"It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that he may never truly die.Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants -- and far, far worse. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."

Spoiler for Servants of the Chaos Gods:

Chaos, also known to its servants as the Primordial Truth or the Primordial Anihilator, and to the Imperium of Man as the Archenemy, is the universal and usually malign spiritual force embodied by the malevolent intelligent entities comprised of psychic energy that live in the Warp. Chaos is the equal and opposite of Order. The entities who embody Chaos are mostly daemons, but the term also encompasses those mortals who have thrown in their lot with Chaos, ranging from simple peasants and/or manufactorum labourers who serve as Chaos Cultists, to Traitor Imperial Guardsmen, planetary militia, Imperial nobles, Planetary Governors, and even the mighty Chaos Space Marines and Traitor Titan Legions of the Dark Mechanicus.

The gods care nothing for their followers or their machinations, granting them unimaginable power or withdrawing it from them just as quickly as their fickle whims decree. Mortals are mere playthings to them, to be used and cast aside at will, at best the objects of momentary fascination. Perhaps they know that once the process of a soul’s corruption has begun it becomes inevitable, and that the taint of Chaos will bring living souls to the gods whether they declare themselves devout or not. It is more likely the Ruinous Powers are simply unaware of the mass of mortality in any conscious sense because their state of existence and motivations are too vast and alien to comprehend. The Gods of Chaos are such remote and terrifying entities that most mortals who know of their existence hope only to escape their notice

The Rules

1. Follow all of TWC's Terms of Service.

2. Obey all direction you receive from TWC moderators and/or Local moderators.

3. Private Message all profile registrations to me in the correct format.

4. Keep all interactions within the realm of general comfort; romance and violence are encouraged, but let's not get too descriptive.

5. Literacy is required. When posting, post at least three sentences, post in the third person, and try to accomplish something in each post.

6. Metagaming is not allowed. Do not use any sort of outside information that you have that your character doesn't in order to gain an advantage.

7. Player characters can be killed by other player characters only with consent from the player that owns the character being killed.

7.a. The moderation can kill off characters if the player is feasibly inactive and holding up progression in the story, usually with majority agreement.

8. Fights will be fought and reasonably judged.

9. God-modding, all-dodge, and auto-hit are not allowed. You get one warning.

9.a. You cannot describe the result an attack has on an individual, it is up to the other individual to show good sportsmanship and allow an effect to occur; Characters are allowed to dodge when considered reasonable.

9.a.i. God-modding is defined as a character/player being able to do anything without limits or boundaries. Ignoring logic, claiming invincibility, and breaking the rules of the game are good examples of this. No one is superman.

9.a.ii. All-dodging is defined as having a character dodging every (perceived) hostile action that comes at them, no matter the intensity or accuracy.
Auto-hitting is defined as assuming an action is successful and deciding for yourself the immediate result.

10. No Canon characters.

11. Players may not have multiple characters, to begin with at least.

12. The moderation (Currently, me) and/or majority rule have the ability to add or amend rules if deemed necessary.

13. ALL OOC SHALL BE POSTED IN THE OOC THREAD.

Character Creation/Profiles

Here is the character profile/registration format, which needs to followed exactly. When created, one must post the profile on to this here OOC to await moderation (McScottish) approval.

This will be run alongside the Rogue Trader RP, not over it, though I am sure that some people might favour this over the more 'normal' and (loosely) Imperial-centric RP Iron Aquilifier, Bastard Feudalism and I will all be running and co-GMing that RP.

As for this RP...

It could be called the 'Reverse Rogue Trader', if you will, for we shall be walking the path of evil and damnation as a variety of colourful individuals. At times we may become part of a larger force, perhaps even a Black Crusade, but that's part of the fun of trying to anticipate Chaos - you really can't.

What I envision is a Warband much like the Red Corsairs I.E. A group of heretical, piractical, not necessarily Chaos-worshipping pirates and reavers; you could choose more-or-less any path, from a Chaos Space Marine (within reason and after mod approval!) To a corrupted Guardsman/woman, a seducted Sister of Battle, a cultist with a mission, a rogue Imperial nobleman who just asked one too many favours from the local cult leader, Dark Heretek (traitor Mechanicus), or even a renegade - not Chaos, but renegade - loyalist Space Marine (again, with mod approval).

This is not supposed to be an RP that will be all over the place, nor will outrightly idiotic acts/posts be tolerated, but it does give players a chance to create a unique (and hopefully not too overpowered) character that can add something to woving band of wasckally weavers!

Your character need not worship any of the Chaos Gods - or, on the other hand, worhsip all of them - they may be male or female...or both! What are their motivations for even joining a larger group? Are there tensions between them and others? (Looking at you Tzeentch and Khorne!) And what, if any, is their ultimate end game - riches, daemonhood, a nice mansion and jacuzzi in Beverly Hills?

1. Send your profile to the GM (myself), do not post it in the thread, no matter how long/detailed it may be.

2. Stick to the realms of what we know - even with Chaos, a half-Chaos marine psyker who happens to have killed Sanguinius instead of Horus is a little out there lore wise.

3. Try to use your imagination; it's Chaos! I know ya'll have good minds, I've seen some excellent writing, so creating a generally non-cliched character, that can't wipe out an entire planet by themself, should be easy as pie...right?

4. Follow the GM's lead - it's fine to go off on tangents, should they have things to do with the story, but don't just run off or teleport somewhere before teleporting back and so on.

5. Let's have some variety here, I'm all for being part of a marauding band of Chaos Marines - in fact that's more than likely - but there's a plethora of persons and reasons to choose from.

Chapter/Legion/Former Organization: Formerly a Brother-Sergeant of the Relictors Chapter, now a Possessed of Slaanesh

Gender: Hermaphrodite - prefers to be called 'She'

Age: Approx 425 years, but appears to now be stuck in a state of perpetual youthfulness

Career and Skills: Once upon a time Hermaphroditus was a Brother-Sergeant of the Relictor Astartes, and thus holds all the knowledge and training that goes with it, from various forms of combat and strategem to how best to praise the Emperor.

Since melding with her Daemonic passenger she has become a much more lethal weapon, keeping her Human(ish) form when not in battle, but possessing greater speed, endurance, healing and senses than even your average Space Marine. In combat her possessing Daemon changes her shape to fit her needs, growing claws or spikes and filling her with its own energy, though always reverting back once the battle is done.

Ambitions of greater changes and further Daemonhood are never far from her mind, and perhaps something she can achieve in the future...

Weapons: She carries an always sharp scimitar and a bolt pistol as standard, although just as happy tearing adversaries apart with her bare hands, an assortment of knives also ringing her hips; you never know when you might need them for something.

Attire: See Physical Description

Equipment/Other Apart from her pendant bearing the symbol of Slaanesh, which never leaves her neck, she doesn't really carry or need to carry anything, although she is not adverse to stripping the living or dead of things that catch her eye.

Physical Description: Hermaphroditus is, as one might expect, an almost perfect blending of the male and female form into the very best of both worlds; an angular, pointed, face framed by long jet black hair through which a pair of Eldar-like ears show, matched with the slender neck, high cheekbones, arched brow and full lips of a woman - her mouth containing an extended prehensile tongue - and the iris of her eyes a dead white against the backdrop of white sclera, making up her face in a way that only makes it more unnaturally alluring to others.

As for her body, she retained her 'original form' to an extent - retaining the strength of an Astartes, she nevertheless became lither in build and somewhat shorter in height, her skin becoming softer, her hair growing in length, her once gargantuan and almost mutant form common to all Space Marines being turned into something much more feminine, and other more personal changes...but overall having the appearance of androgeny favoured both by her parasitic hitch-hiker and Slaanesh in general.

Usually she is clad in the desecrated power armour of her former Chapter, the once dark greay armour now painted a garish blend of pink and black and adorned with trophies and fetishes of her patron deity and trimmings of gold; at times, however, she prefers go into battle or parade about wearing nothing more than soft silks, the clothes of a captured noble, a loin cloth...or even naked. If this is the case, the transfusion ports and neursal sensors of the black carapace are readily visible on her flesh, and those parts of her that changed from being male are a lot more obvious.

In battle her Daemonic half takes control, and all the above is stripped away, warped to reveal a handmaiden of Slaanesh - hand forming into scything claws, skin becoming purple and mottled, feet forming into repitilian talons and teeth sharpening into points. The armour fuses to the flesh and, in short, she becomes more beast than human.

Thus far, apart from a coupling of genders and genitals, she had not experienced any of the more mutating 'gifts' of her patron deity - always retaining two arms and legs, ten fingers and toes, and the human form overall after each battle - but there is still time for that to change...

(Or picture a towering Sister of Battle, enhanced in beauty by the inhuman melding of a male and female, as well as possession by a Slaaneshi daemon, dressed in the power armour of a Space Marine - or naked - and you're half way there!)

Mental Description/Personality: Once she was a loyal servant of the Emperor, one of his uncorruptable weapons against the darkness, but - possibly due to the teachings of her Chapter, as well as her own selfishness - she eventually was stripped piece-by-piece of any faith she may have had in him or the Imperium. When the Chapter were then hunted down, it seemed to confirm everything she had been told, and caused her to seek a stronger and less hypocritical master...a master that could give her everything she desired.

With her possession and devotion to Slaanesh that it brings, she now desires much what any other Slaaneshi does - she desires the gifts of her master, the myriad of pleasures of flesh, soul and more that can be had through noise, pain and...other things, the Daemonette known as Salmakis is always there but allowing her to control 'her own' body when outside of battle. This leads to much talking to oneself, even arguments, but from time-to-time the Astartes once known as Pausanias might try to re-emerge only to be quelled and sent back to the dark recesses of her own mind once more.

In terms of others, she usually plays well with them, disliking other Chaos worshippers in their own ways but more than happy to ally herself with whomever can further her goals or provide her with what she needs.

After she gets what she wants, who knows? All she desires is perfection in all things.

Background/History:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

- Brother-Sergeant Pausanias Atlantiades (since renamed Hermaphroditus Androgicos), is recruited from the Feral World of Neutra into the Fire Claws Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. He is subsequently found to be pure enough of heart, and strong enough of will, to undertake the agonising transformation from Neutran tribesman into a fully fledged Space Marine.

- Over the next few decades he progresses through the ranks of the Chapters Scout Company, joining the Fourth Company as a Tactical Battle-Brother after a particularly bloody conflict against an uprising on the planet of El'katar.

- Continues to take part in numerous conflicts across many warzones, including The Blood Star Campaign (748.M41), and the Battle for the Captor of Sin Space Hulk (ca. 950.M41) alongside the Xanthite Inquisitor De Marche and Fire Claws Librarian Decario. Upon the capture of the Space Hulk, the slaying of a Champion of Tzeentch, and the power shown by the usage of Daemonic artefacts against Chaos itself, the Chapter will in decades to come - after seeking out all manner of artefacts and weapons of their own - take the name of the Relictors and paint their armour grey and black.

- Battle-Brother Pausanias joins a contingent of his Chapter in the Third War for Armageddon, becoming an expert in jungle warfare and Ork extermination, being promoted to Brother-Sergeant of the Fourth Company shortly after the Relictors leave the planet.

- With all ten companies of the Chapter comitted to the fighting during the 13th Black Crusade (999.M41), Pausanias leads his squad at the behest of Chapter Master Bardane to a planet just outside the Eye of Terror known as Gelos IX, with orders to recover an artefact known as the Orb of Salmakis which had been buried there by the Emperor's Children as they fled the Emperor's rightful justice; the artefact, an unbreakable glass orb that swirled with a sickly pink light within, was first found by Pausanias and swiftly concealed on his person...though why he hid it from his brethren, he did not know at the time.

- With the action at Fremas over, and the departure of the Relictors back toward their star-fort and home, Pausanias had started to have visions and see things - things bought on by the Orb, which he kept secreted within his chambers and away from prying eyes, often staring into its depths in moments of silence and contemplation - little did he realise that it, and the Daemonic entity within the Orb, were slowly eroding away his faith (and thus his shield) in the Emperor, always whispering to him in the dark and even telling him that his Chapter would soon be betrayed because of its own arrogance and pride. An arrogance and pride which he shared.

- By the time the Grey Knights appeared, there to begin the extermination of the supposedly heretical Chapter, the mind and the soul of Pausanias had already been given over to the Orb that he may survive the assault of the Ordo Malleus, and escape unharmed with those of his Brothers that would also flee; thus he was part of the Relictors that broke through the Inquisitorial blockade and straight for shelter in the Eye of Terror itself.

- It was here, in its home, alone with the Relictor aboard a small cruiser, that the entity known only as Salmakis revealed its true nature as a lesser servant of Slaanesh, taunting Pausanias - who had never released himself of the Orb, or revealed it to his superiors, though he could have at any time - telling him that he had escaped and now owed the Daemon his soul. He refused at first, trying to shield himself in a faith that was just no longer there, stripped away slowly since the Orb came to him, the Warp creature laughing as it not only mauled his soul but slithered unknown into his body as well. When all was said and done, he found that the light of the Orb had now grown dim, the shell of the artefact little more than a bauble, and of the Daemon there was no sign.

- Drifting through the Eye with two dozen of his Brothers, Pausanias once more began to dream; these dreams of the greatest intensity, more like a vivid awakening really, experiences of perfection and of lustful thoughts that no Astartes was supposed to ever experience. How long they drifted, remaining away from all others, it cannot be said with the flow of time in the Eye, but by the end of a week in standard time he had began to feel pains and aches across his body, to take on a haughty and self-righteous air in the presence of his kin, and to urge his comrades to find an inhabited planet where they might land.

- By the time the cruiser, known as the Light of Reason, drifted back out of the Eye and into real space once more Pausanias was no more; he had declared that his name would be Hermaphroditus Androgicos, that all aboard the strike vessel - whether of greater or lower rank - would swear loyalty to him, and that they would raid the nearest Imperial planet for slaves. It was now that his Battle-Brothers finally saw his concealed madness, saw what he had become, and made to silence him forever! Yet they had lost men in the Eye, and Pausanias (or what had been Pausanias) was no longer a mere Astartes. With bolter and sword, and even bare hands, he massacred the remaining Relictors aboard the ship and, in the chapel which lies aboard all Imperial vessels, sacrificed those still living to a deity whose name he would chant in a language he did not actually know.

- This act was the final one needed to allow Salmakis to change him utterly, his body - made in the image of the Emperor and his unknown Primarch - melting inside the shell of his armour as the wax of a candle, reforming itself in much that same way, the pain of it all reaching beyond the limits of even an Asartes' endurance and causing him to black out more than once; his armour fell as if torn from his body, the black carapace consumed by a wicked fire as he changed, his hulking frame warping to become leaner but just as strong, and his gargantuan features - so alien and even fearsome to the mortal eye - tearing itself apart and reforming in a cacophony of delightful pain. His skin took on softer feel, his face becoming a confusing blend of male and female, his entire body retaining the organs of and a more toned version of the Astartes musculature, and when the pain finally subsided he once more fell into the black.

- Not much more is heard or known about the one who calls herself Hermaphroditus Androgicos, a recent report claiming that she raided a monastery of the Adeptus Sororitas of the Order of the Flaming Heart in the company of Slaaneshi Warband for her own purposes...after that, she simply disappears, until now.

Sigral - SilverLich - A Dirty Cop on a Quest for Knowledge

Username:SilverLich

Character Name: Sigral

Race/Species: Human

Faith/Religion (if any): Worshipper of Tzeentch

Chapter/Legion/Former Organization: Former member of the Adeptus Arbites

Gender: Male

Age: 30

Career and Skills: Served as a member of the adeptus arbites for a number of years, first as a judge, and then as a detective arbitrator.

Thanks to his years of processing the paperwork of the arbites, and some trial and error during his time as a member of a local cult, he's become adept at being able to forge the right papers to redirect attention or allow certain actions to go unhindered. From his days as a detective, he's gained the insight into how to properly stalk a person and what to look for in a suspect or one who might be suspicious.

Ever since the completion of the ritual, he has received an eye of Tzeentch on his right hand and a small start up of psychic power to allow him to use it, which he has been training to try and augment his weapon with, although all attempts so far have left him severely exhausted.

Weapons:

Power Maul
Locke-pattern boltgun
Auto pistol

Attire: In battle, Sigral prefers his old carapace armor, now painted varying shades of blue and adorned with symbols and marks of Tzeentch, while outside, he wears whatever the local fashion is, mainly to fit in with any potential targets he may have to track, changing his outfit as necessary.

Equipment/Other: Cyber Mastiff: Before taking part in the raid that saw both his colleagues and new allies slaughtered, Sigral had the heretical tech priest in the employ of the cult create a device that when used, disabled one of the cyber mastiff's that had gone with the group long enough for the tech priest to make the mechanical creature see Sigral as its master.

Eye of Tzeentch: While most recipients of an eye of Tzeentch would have some experience with the powers of a psyker, Sigral has only recently awoken his own potential thanks to the eye, and thus has to focus to get anything meaningful out of it and, and has found that trying to hide it starts to irritate him, physically and mentally.

Standing at around five foot six inches tall, Sigral has yet to let most of his appearance from his Arbites days go. He is well toned and muscular for a follower of Tzeentch, a bit thinner than most men, with dark brown that meets the base of his neck, and usually standing in a rigid pose thanks to his years as an officer. The beginning of a beard marks the bottom of his face, but only because he has neglected shaving ever since he has left.

Mental Description/Personality:

After leaving his home planet and abandoning everyone, even his old allies, Sigral, despite his desire to know where he fits in his master's plans, he still wonders if betraying his new comrades was the right choice. He had been so desperate to find his place in things, that he betrayed everything he ever knew, and the thought of being alone, even if he finds where he fits into the grand schemes of Tzeentch terrifies him. Due to this, he has promised to be completely and utterly loyal to whatever party he finds that will lead him to his purpose, although he still fully intends to find it. That does not mean he will follow them completely, especially if he finds himself in the company of other worshipers of the dark gods. He finds the Khornate completely pathetic, having no other reason or purpose to do anything besides slaughter and killing. Nurglites are content be hopeless and unwilling to advance anything in his eyes. The only others he tolerates besides other Tzeentchians are the Slaaneshi, they may be a decadent group in his eyes, but at least they pursue something that resembles a future, although he's perfectly willing to shove the barrel of his autopistol in their face in an effort to get them to back off if they cannot respect his personal space.

Background/History: The son of an officer in the imperial guard and an engineer for his home planet, Sigurd Androla chose neither of his parents paths in favor of training to be a member of the Adeptus Arbites. When he finally became a member of the local Arbites, Sigurd started as a simple judge, processing the various cases and other paperwork that came his way just like his fellows, and joining the occasional arrest. After an exemplary performance under a veteran detective arbitrator, Sigurd was transferred to the arbitrators to train as a detective. It was here that his downfall began.

A few weeks into his training, his current target had broken into a local library, and the young detective in training followed in after him, accidentally revealing himself as the perpetrator had finished drawing a ritualistic circle in the ground and had begun chanting. After killing him, Sigurd tried to investigate the circle, only to feel a number of voices begin talking loudly in his head, trying to convince him to finish the man's work. He managed to resist long enough to call in for back up before passing out, waking up later to find that he could no longer hear the voices. Over the next several years, Sigurd improved his craft, all the while trying to track down anything connected to the break in, believing that it had to be connected to something big.

He got his answer during a botched raid that left him a captive of a local cult of Tzeentch. Where he expected torture, he found himself face to face with the leader of the cult as he began to explain their purpose, that everything was happening for a reason, even Sigurd happening upon the ritual and the outcome of his encounter, of the complete inevitability of it all. After all of it, Sigurd lowered his, his voice almost a whisper as he spoke to the leader, "than why do we keep going?" The leader answered with quiet laugh of his own before replying "because we are all a part of our lords' plans, because we all have a part to play." The leader then unlocked his restraints and held out a hand to help the young arbites to his feet. Sigurd then took it, with no other motive than to find his own purpose, to find what he out what it was that he was meant to do.

From that day forward, Sigurd used his training, old and new, to keep the cult going as long as he could without seeming too suspicious to his superiors and fellow arbites, all in preparation for a ritual to make the cult greater. On the same day as the ritual was to be done, Sigurd was chosen as a member of a task force set to raid the location of the cult, something he had only been able to hide for so long once the arbites really started looking. As the day drew closer, Sigurd made preparations of his own. The day of the raid, what was meant to be a massacre for both sides became utter chaos.

False numbers reported to both sides, the layout of the hideout only being occasionally right, and communications for both sides to any help they may have had on the outside almost immediately being cut off. Still, the cultists fought to defend the ritual, and the Arbites pushed on, slaughtering one another as the confusion became greater. By the time the end of it, most on both sides were dead, the few that escaped desperate to bring help, as the cult leader and the lead enforcer were still trying to stop one another along with a select few.

The ritual was nearing completion when they had been whittled down to just the leader, a body guard, and Sigurd and the enforcer. On the cusp of victory, Sigurd struck the enforcer with his power maul and joined the two remaining cultists as the ritual opened a small hole in the warp. He then shot the bodyguard and the leader, explaining to him as he lay dying that there was no way this could continue, he had seen occurrences like this before without someone like him helping the cult and how things turned out even if they won: with an inquisitor showing up and everyone ending up dead at some point. So he approached the opening alone, and held out his hand, feeling something on the other side reach out from the warp, and he felt himself change.

It was only for an instant, and the hole closed soon afterwards, the daemon on the other side believing there was no point in continuing something even it knew was doomed to fail, but Sigurd found himself with an eye on the back of his hand, and a vision of cultists and arbites arriving soon, so he set about destroying all evidence of his involvement, even starting a fire that he hoped would burn the whole building before he left the planet entirely. Now, having cast off his old name, Sigral searches for a greater purpose, of a plan that will effect more than a mere planet.

]]>Play by Post RPG ForumMcScottishhttp://www.twcenter.net/forums/showthread.php?695433-quot-Have-you-ever-danced-with-the-Devil-in-the-pale-moonlight-quot-AKA-Excommunicate-Traitoris-40K-RP-OOC-Threadhttp://www.twcenter.net/forums/showthread.php?695299-quot-Every-Man-Has-His-Price-quot-WHFB-RP-IC-Thread&goto=newpost
Sat, 25 Jul 2015 13:43:34 GMTDuardo de Palanza de Fallucci de Trantio was to be considered on most accounts,...

Duardo de Palanza de Fallucci de Trantio was to be considered on most accounts, although still one of the wealthiest men in Tilea, as a pretty broken sort of man; his fortunes had failed him in the last few years, he had become a reclusive shell of the man he had once been - locking up and hiding himself away from the world in his stronghold of stone - and now he was beginning to hear voices in the night and warnings of untimely deaths before they came to pass. Many said he was mad, and more sympathetic figures would sagely nod their heads and claim that he had a right to be after all that he had suffered, to which the opposite would sneer and go on about their business as usual.

Once upon a time he had been a jovial man, a rotund figure with three sons and a beautiful wife to call his own, his family home - the castle of Guilamuero, a central keep surrounded by a curtain wall and a deep moat, the serfs of his vineyards and estates living in settlements outside the walls - passed down to him on the death of his enterprising father, along with the old mans considerable fortune; it was a fortune he had used to fund the ill-fated expedition to Albion, the hiring of a mercenary army and the passage across the waves that would end in the deaths of all his sons, the decimation and desertion of his army, and the taking of his wife by another man into his bed. Oh, she claimed to have thought him dead...but he knew better.

Gaining passage back to his native Tilea from an Imperial skipper, with the very last of his coin, the now gaunt and ragged nobleman returned to an estate in ruins and a castle where only his faithful family servant Alfredo awaited him - yet Alfredo was old even when his father lived, and could not be expected to do much in the way of upkeep. He heard from this trusted man how his wife had spent all the money she could, never knowing about that which he had secreted away from all but himself, before taking the serfs and herself to a rivals estate somewhere to the south in the Republic of Remas.

All was lost, and the only artefact he had gained from Albion was a small golden talisman, a roughly hewn thing carved into the likeness of a Lizardman's skull, which over time he had began to think was driving him mad - even when he tried to rid himself of it, throwing it into the moat, it returned not moments later to lay neatly on his dusty desk, form where he liked to look out across his hilly and empty domain of a sunlit day.

Eventually, with anger and revenge burning a hole in his chest, he sent Alfredo and the swiftest mount that his wife had not taken to every inn, brothel and crossroad across the Principality of Trantio which read;

"Duardo de Trantio, Lord of Guilmuero and man of expansive wealth, seeks daring adventurers and sell-swords in need of employment to attend him at his castle in the foothills of the Apuccini mountains east of the city of Trantio; for those that attend there shall be food and a payment of coin extended to them simply for their presence.

The afeared of death and weak-hearted need not apply.

Make yourself known at the drawbridge, where a servant shall be waiting."

This was Tilea after all, so all one need do was wait and they would come...or would they?

Guilmuero had a black reputation since his return, many saying that it was cursed by the spirits of his slain sons, mercenaries of his former expeditionary force claiming that Duardo himself had partaken of eating human flesh when they had become trapped in a bog land near some odd structures, before being ambushed by a Druchii raiding party that is.

Yes, only the foolish or the desperate would find their way to that place, so they claimed.

Horatio Drake, former Inquisitor and now failed Rogue Trader - although he still slept with his Warrant of Trade as close as possible - awoke from a fitful sleep in a place he did not know, in a bed he did not know, with a woman next to him that he only knew in the most animalistic sense...again. Over the last few months it had become somewhat of a habit, if not an addiction, perhaps a ritual if you like, that he would find the nearest planet or ports of unsavoury sorts and remain their for weeks on end just drinking, whoring and generally spending what little wealth remained to him in any and every way that he found enjoyable.

It had all started when he found that Xenos tech aboard the Victrix...why had he even contemplated it? How foolish he had been to attempt to study it, how stupid! His curiosity as an ex-servant of the Ordo Xenos had certainly had something to do with his rash decision, but as soon as the first man became infected he knew that what he unleashed on that vessel needed to be annihilated; when he had finally made the decision to allow his precious ship to be consumed by a self-destruct sequence, and an arsenal of warheads gathered in its belly, he had not anticipated his response to the loss of ship and therefore livelihood.

First he had cursed them all for fools, his remaining crew and his loyal retinue - those that had survived both Genestealer attack and the ever increasing obsession of their Captain - damning them all roundly before taking a shuttle to Port Wander in the region of space known as the Koronus Expanse, the illuminations of the Great Maw warp hole never far away.

It was after landing at the second port - Centrum Twelve - that the cycle he had then continued had began.

"You're awake," came the pleasant but somehow irritating voice from beside him, the tresses of golden hair drooping across her almost Eldar like face to cover one of her purple eyes, "and, as usual, you wake me too."

Nothing but a grunt emerged from the throat of the still shaky Trader, one pale hand rubbing across the stubble on his face, the other helping him to rise from the bed he had occupied before swaying over to the basin and mirror in one corner of the room.

Dirt, he noted silently, the entire basin being filthy, just like the seedy establishment in which he slept...just like the assorted women they employed.

"You said it again, you know?"

"Said what?" He half-snarled, keeping an eye on the reflection of the lithe harlot behind him.

"You called out her name again."

A small shiver of anger went up his spine, the usually placid figure turning on his heel and glaring at her, "what is it to you? Not enough coin?!" Immediatly he regretted his anger, and his words, but he would not apologise to this half-breed who sold herself so readily to the highest paying suitor.

Before he could continue there came a beeping, a minute klaxon telling him that someone was at the door, and after he had padded across the room and opened it - caring not a jot that he was stark naked - he slid the door open and found the small, balding, grime ridden owner of the bawdy house known as the Fleshes Delight standing there. He noted that the man was shaking somewhat, and had none of the usual air of arrogance about him.

"Well," he snorted, "what do you want?"

"Sir," came the return, with as much venom as the smaller and weaker man dared to muster, "there is a...man in the bar below that says he knows you. Says that he wishes to speak to you about something, told me to tell you that his ship was at your disposal or some nonsense. His name was Trust...no...Trarst...or was it Trust?"

Trask.

"Tell him to wait, I will be down shortly."

************

Now fully clothed, and ever-so-slightly more sober, Drake made his way down to the unusually quiet bar and looked about for the man he knew would be there...and there he was!

"May the Emperor damn me if it isn't Torvan Trask!" He shouted across the room, startling some patrons who sat deeper in thought (or in their mugs...), before striding toward the fiery haired 'man' with one hand outstretched and a smile playing on his lips, "what brings you to the Expanse, old friend?"

"It is the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that he may never truly die.Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the Warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in His name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever-present threat to humanity from aliens, heretics, mutants -- and far, far worse. To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods."

Spoiler for Rogue Trader and co.:

Rogue Traders are unique and powerful human individuals who serve as a combination freelance explorer, conquistador and interstellar merchant for the Imperium of Man. They are hereditary Imperial servants and nobles, given a starship, a crew, and sometimes a contingent of Space Marines (in very rare cases) or troops of the Imperial Guard and carte blanche to roam those worlds of the galaxy that still lie beyond Imperial control or knowledge. In their task of exploring and exploiting the still-uncharted regions of the galaxy for Mankind, Rogue Traders might come across worlds harbouring long-forgotten human civilisations which will be later incorporated into the Imperium by official Adeptus Mechanicus Explorator fleets and expeditions of the Imperial Navy and Imperial Guard. Other times they find empty or alien-dominated planets ripe for colonisation, conquest or exploitation by the Imperium--and themselves.

The Rules

1. Follow all of TWC's Terms of Service.

2. Obey all direction you receive from TWC moderators and/or Local moderators.

3. Private Message all profile registrations to me in the correct format.

4. Keep all interactions within the realm of general comfort; romance and violence are encouraged, but let's not get too descriptive.

5. Literacy is required. When posting, post at least three sentences, post in the third person, and try to accomplish something in each post.

6. Metagaming is not allowed. Do not use any sort of outside information that you have that your character doesn't in order to gain an advantage.

7. Player characters can be killed by other player characters only with consent from the player that owns the character being killed.

7.a. The moderation can kill off characters if the player is feasibly inactive and holding up progression in the story, usually with majority agreement.

8. Fights will be fought and reasonably judged.

9. God-modding, all-dodge, and auto-hit are not allowed. You get one warning.

9.a. You cannot describe the result an attack has on an individual, it is up to the other individual to show good sportsmanship and allow an effect to occur; Characters are allowed to dodge when considered reasonable.

9.a.i. God-modding is defined as a character/player being able to do anything without limits or boundaries. Ignoring logic, claiming invincibility, and breaking the rules of the game are good examples of this. No one is superman.

9.a.ii. All-dodging is defined as having a character dodging every (perceived) hostile action that comes at them, no matter the intensity or accuracy.
Auto-hitting is defined as assuming an action is successful and deciding for yourself the immediate result.

10. No Canon characters.

11. Players may not have multiple characters, to begin with at least.

12. The moderation (Currently, me) and/or majority rule have the ability to add or amend rules if deemed necessary.

13. ALL OOC SHALL BE POSTED IN THE OOC THREAD.

14. There will be no Space Marines! Do not send a profile for one.

Character Creation/Profiles

Here is the character profile/registration format, which needs to followed exactly. When created, one must post the profile on to this here OOC to await moderation (McScottish) approval.

While in the universe of WH40K there are any number of scenarios etc that could be played out, I intend to begin this one during the voyage of a Rogue Trader. In this way the players can congregate as a rag-tag group, but also gives the chance for a variety of characters.

Now, I will allow any characters within reason. That means that anything essentially non-humanoid is prohibited (Tyranids, Necrons etc), while I shall allow anything from an Ork to a Tau to a human of one of a billion billion different worlds. He is, after all, a Rogue Trader and therefore mingles with many races not usually associated with the strict Imperium and their religious (and secular) orders.

Age: 63, but looks to be in his mid-twenties thanks to the wonders of technology.

Career (if any) and Skills: See history/background below.

Weapons: Not a man to be weighed down by weapons, he carries only one or two at any one time. The most common is a well-balanced Hecate Pattern chainsword that never leaves his side, deactivated at all times unless being prepared for use. The other, for no Rogue Trader should be absent of a ranged weapon, is a Cadian Pattern Hellpistol, both of which are wielded with deadly proficiency.

Attire: While it is common for most Traders to be as flamboyant as possible, seeing it as a deterent to any potential assailants, Drake does not share this view and in fact tries to keep both his personality and his clothing choices as neutral as possible. To this end he favours various outfits of military style- tightly cut, with buttons that shine, and epaulettes -that remain unmarked with rank or regiment and are commonly of the darkest colour he can procure. As such flak-vests of almost black are concealed by black-buttoned and high-collared jackets of deep green, knee-high boots of polished black on his lithe but muscular legs, and equally green trousers sporting a blood-red stripe covering his lower extremeties.

Equipment/Other: Aside from the standard med-packs, extra ammo mags and Warrant of Trade which never leaves his person, Horatio carries very little. Maybe a Lho-Stick or two, perhaps an Auspex in the field, but the majority of the time whatever he has on his person is concealed and unknown...if there is anything at all.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): Horatio is, oddly, quite average in appearance; around six-feet and two-inches tall, with broad shoulders but a rather slender frame, he is not what one would expect from a man raised to be a warrior.

Beneath his clothing his frame of pale skin, a trait due to his Terran heritage, would show the muscular workings of one who devoted himself to the arts of war- from the old unarmed crafts of Terra, to the use of sword, chain-blade and ranged weapon. Though slender, even feminine to look at, his body is covered in muscle like whipcords which wrap tightly about the bone but are able to propel his limbs and core through any conflict.

Facially he has the look of a hawk; large green eyes beneath thin and arching brows of black hair give way to an aquiline nose, hovering as it does above a thin-lipped mouth which rarely smiles, a mane of jaw-length hair of the same obsidian black commonly tied into a topknot or left to move freely of its own accord. Not a mark marrs his ivory skin, nothing from a scar to a burn to a scratch, a case really of sheer luck rather than anything else.

Mental Description/Personality: the mindset of Horatio is essentially this; though it is different, it may not necessarily be dangerous. His years as a loner in the Calixis Schola Progenium, friendless but an eager student, left him untrustworthy of others and, over the years, he has actually garnered more friendship with non-humans than his own kind. Nonetheless, he has managed to nurture connections in the past that endure to this day, in the Guard, Navy and even among some Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes.

As a person he is private, yet highly thoughtful, seeing and assessing almost constantly the dangers or rewards of a specific task or action. Loneliness is not for him though, and is more-or-less what has driven him to seek out a crew of his own...that and the idea that greater rewards come with greater numbers.

Lastly, his dedication to the Emperor, although partially bent due to his personal beliefs, it unquestionable.

Brief Background/History:

Drake began life much as his father had, lounging in the comfortable lifestyle of the Terran nobility, without much aim and certainly without any real purpose to speak of. After years of debauchery and playing the wealthy eldest son, his father Winston Drake had finally had enough of his useless prodigy. In desperation he sent this scion of his own House, the firstborn of his own blood, into the fanatical arms of the Calixis Sectors Schola Progenium- hoping and praying that with the stern (and rigourously enforced) discipline of the Drill Abbots he may become a more active and pious man.

During his abscence his younger brother Walter was raised into his place, a paragon of good breeding and noble finesse who had lived the life of a refined gentleman since he could walk. Yes, Walter was everything that his brother was not and his father loved him for it.

Needless to say that Horatio did not take to the lessons pressed upon him by the Progenium, questioning and prying at every scripture and fable he was taught, railing against the dogma that they sough to ingrain into him. Not that he ever let this show. Outwardly he was the perfect student, obeying orders and living the restrained life of a religious servant, but inwardly he was something else...someone else.

Slowly but surely his martial leanings were noticed, and by the time of his teenage years he was being trained almost completely for a future career in the military of the Imperium.

It was only by his mid-twenties that Horatio finally became free of the Progenium, this young Progena having his qualities noticed by a visiting representative of the Inquisition to the Calaxis Sector, a man that would soon become his mentor and a replacement for the father that had given him away.

Inquisitor Thrane Picton had been sent to the Calixis Sector by the Ordo Xenos many years before, both to study the numerous contacts with Xenos species taking place each day on this rim of the galaxy, and to make certain that any 'corruption' among the sectors inhabitants was erased immediatly and not allowed to spread. They could not have known, or simply ignored, Pictons leanings toward radicalism and very soon the sect of radicalism in that sector known as the Xenos Hybris.

Over the next decade or so, after a selection process that may well have broken many lesser men, Horatio was to become the acolyte of Picton; from Thrane he would learn lessons outside of the Imperial creed, beyond the limits of Imperial law, including ways to see those marked as enemies instead as potential allies. Xenos lore, tech and customs became a part of his life, the seeking of that which could benefit the Imperium a primary goal for the older Inquisitor and his young apprentice. By the time he reached his thirtieth year Horatio was already familier with the workings of the Calixis Conclave, and with the many Xenos species which could be encountered in the fringe-regions of the Halo Stars and Koronus Expanse, where settlers made their own laws and the writ of the Imperium need not apply.

So much knowledge, so much to learn.

It was during the forty-sixth year of his life, after nearly three decades of absorbing, imitating and searching, that his mentor was tried for heresy against the Imperium and executed. Why or who informed upon him was never entirely revealed, but Horatio always had suspicions. It could have been any of one his teachers varied and many contacts, members of his retinue, even his own Cadian bodyguard.

As only an apprentice, it was concluded by a tribunal of senior Inquisitors that Horatio was innocent of his mentors actions...though not entirely. Due to his birth as a member of a noble House (if without contact for most of his life), he was given the option of exile from the Inqusition- though not from observation by agents of the organisation -or to take up a Warrant of Trade, and in his voyages through the outer fringes of the Imperium expunge the misdeeds of his teacher and adopted father-figure, whether real or simply falsified it mattered not.

Needless to say, he took the Warrant and a ship, the Victrix, a simple vessel outfitted with few weapons but capable of repelling small parties of raiders if necessary. Since then he has travelled for billions of miles, from one end of the galaxy to the other, all the while in isolation and as a solitary figure.

Now he has decided it is time to gather a retinue of his own...

Narf - Sinclair - The Woman with the Interesting Life

Username:

Narf

Character Name:

Szina Katrina Sinclair

Race/Species:

Human - Mordian

Gender:

Female

Age:

57

Career (if any) and Skills:

Skills:

Miss Sinclair is skilled as a coordinator and drill instructor. She also possesses an analytical mind ideally suited for strategy, tactics, or campaign planning. Her charisma, combined with her intelligence and patient nature, makes her an excellent trainer and enforcer. She is levelheaded in a crisis and highly skilled in many forms of small arms combat, she is tough, excellent with a sniper rifle. She's trained in tactical combat, knife-fighting as well as most conventional small arms back on Mordian.

Join the fleet 970.M41 as bodyguard and sniper in the service of Lord High Admiral of the Fleet of Segmentum Obscura. Experience.

Joined the Inquisition. Experience and Training.

Join a Rogue Trader Fleet as Lieutenant and Shooting Instructor with other Mordian Guards using her old education once again.

Becames a Independent Cargo Shuttle Pilot - Useing experience from her time as chauffeur/pilot.

Items:

Weapons:

One M36 Lasgun

One laspistol(Officer)

Naval Pistol (Mars-pattern, Naval Officer)

Archeotech Laspistol(Keepsake from Varus)

Six charge Packs (Lasgun)

Four charge Packs (Laspistol)

Three frag Granades

Three krak Granades

One knife

Not readied:One custom made sniper rifle with Omni Scope, tripod brace, Targeter and silencer. The stock, grip, hilt and shaft are made of Iron Unique to Mordian, while not superior to other metals it is a powerful reminder of her home. It have sacred insciptions from the Imperial Creed.

Attire:

She usually wear the blue Mordian Ceremonial Flak Armour. But when off duty she'll wear a black shirt with long neck, and just have kept on the uniforms blue pants and belt.

Since she came on the Cargo Shuttle shes taken to wear her black high roll neck plain long sleeve stretch t-shirt. The blue Uniform pants now faded, kept in repair, kept clean, born worn and faded are also still a part of her attire. Now the difference is just that shes got a belt with two sidearms. a Naval Pistol (Mars-pattern), and a Archeotech Laspistol. While her thrid Laspistol, the one she got with her position as Lieutenant, lies under the pillow.

Equipment/Other:

One Mordian Ceremonial Flak Armour.

One Imperial flak vest

One set of poor weather gear

One rucksack

One set of basic tools

One mess kit, One water canteen

One blanket, One sleep bag

One rechargeable lamp pack

One grooming kit

Two Dog tags (Her own and her husbonds)

One Imperial Infantryman’s Uplifting Primer

One Munitorum Manual

Combat sustenance rations, four weeks’ supply

One respirator

One rebreather

Fourty Lho-Sticks

Five Bottles of Amasec, 3 poor, 1 Average, 1 Aged.

One Medi-Kit

One set of Magnoculars

One Officers microbead

Implants:

Calculus Logi Upgrade - Head Interior.

Auger Arrays - Head, Interior.

Locator Matrix- Head, interior.

Memorance Implant - Head, interior.

Respirator filter implant - Lungs, interior.

Good Quality cybernetic senses. Seight: Magnifying lenses, full photo-visor and Dark Sight. Can be noticed if a light is lit on her eyes and attention is paid. Hearing: include an internal micro-bead system.

Deepstash:

One custom made sniper rifle with Omni Scope, tripod brace, Targeter and silencer. The stock, grip, hilt and shaft are made of Iron Unique to Mordian, while not superior to other metals it is a powerful reminder of her home. It have sacred insciptions from the Imperial Creed.

Sinclair is a physically fit woman, with the body thrice as young as she is old. She keeps her black hair tightly woven into a strict braid. But should one catch her with it lose in the shower it's a long lush hair going down the back. She is a striking character with electric green eyes, strong jaw line, and can be considered beautiful. She keeps her body in a high physical state and is a rather active personality. After burning and culling witches and traitors, she has several scars on her body, but these are usually covered. She of normal build leaning towards thin. Her height is 1,76. She's lithe and athletic and moves with a stature of pride and confidence, straight back and head held in proper pose. Her complexion is pale from many hours spend over scrolls and books.

Mental Description/Personality:

Szina come from a Family Militant, and some of these roots still present themselves in her personality even if she's changed much since she left her old life behind. Her family viewed the Emporer with unquestionable faith as a harsh judge and overseer. Her faith steeled as much in her belief in the emperor as the other members of her family. The people of the Imperium are often taught that they serve the Emperor in everything they do, but in her family in particular she was taught that there is no greater service to the Emperor than killing His foes, be they aliens, heretics or witches, teaching that one could only win his favour by wading through a sea of Xenos blood. This is still a part of her, but in her life her perspective have broadened greatly. In her time in the guard and with Varus she got a great sense of comradery and trust instilled in her towards those around her. Only to have this part of her challanged serving in the Navy putting down mutinies and heretics, as trust shaken even more by her time in the service of the Inquisition and the last betrayal that forced her flight. And even so, there's still a spark of warmth and will to trust those shes working with, a trait looked down upon by many in the Imperium. This spark though can be hard to recognise through the hard Mordian exterior and dark aura that have befell over her during the years in the Inquisition. An aura of authority and judgement which makes it hard to see any light that might remain in her personality. Shes no longer a person to blink once when killing another human. No longer one to look back at the body and question if her suspicion was a rightful one, for she have felt the claws that the mercy doubt might bring, and have lost belief in such a feelings value. She still thinks it a great quality, admirable even, but naive, as she have seen it to be a luxury none can afford anyone to have. Since her flight to the Rogue trader though she's lost a lot of resolve, all she knew left behind, her beliefs shaken, in ways that her old self would deem heretical, losing her old tutor after leaving behind her family have left her questioning whats left, shes wary of blood, a feeling strong, almost sickening her to the core. None she had known would approve of such thoughts, not even the mother and father she had left behind. All she knew was the spill it for the good of the Imperium and the Emperor, and to be so wary of it was feeling of great ambivalence which just served to tire her further. Szina didn't have ambition anymore as when she was younger, and her duty was left behind, She had once had a humble wish for a family but that too was a thing of now far past.. Shes a person in great flux without knowledge to where to go from here, but right now the strict frames of the guards on a Rogue Trader was good. And the direction into unknown space even better. She hoped shed find a goal there, and maybe herself again.

Background/History:

Born on the Hive World Mordian, in the Segmentum Obscurus as the daughter of career officer Imperial Guard Major Alexander Sinclair of the Iron Guard. Extensive travel at an early age, as well as exposure to a variety of cultures and customs (Mordian 942-945.M41, Cadia 945-947.M41, Scintilla 947-950.M41, Trii'ka Space Station(In Orbit around Vostroya) 950.M41, Talasa Prime(Where she encountered the inquisition(Ordo Xenos) at the age of just ten) 950-951.M41, Verghast 951-952.M41, Vanaheim 952-955.M41

Mordian Proving Ground Station, 955-959.M41). Miss Sinclair exhibited exceptional athletic skill at the age of four, and was encouraged by her mother to pursue dance. Instead, with the influence of her father and brothers, Miss Sinclair began learning the combat arts. While stationed on Cadia at age seventeen, she was introduced to Commissar-Captain Varus, and after relocating to Star Fort Saix, began tactics and firearms training under him at the behest of her father. Her skill impressed Commissar-Captain Varus, as well as her potential (in Varus's opinion) as a covert agent and spy. She toured briefly with Commissar-Captain Varus in 961.M41 to continue training.

First approached by Cypra Mundi's Administratum Master (at recommendation of Commissar-Captain Varus) 966.M41. Took position as bodyguard and chauffeur/pilot for the Administratum Master same year. It just so happened that the base of a program for Navy snipers was set in motion there on Cypra Mundi. This was the real purpose Master of Cypra Mundi had hired her, to test her a bit before approach to see if Varus recommendation held water.

Training on Capra Mundi 966-970.M41. Join the fleet 970.M41 as bodyguard and sniper in the service of Lord High Admiral of the Fleet of Segmentum Obscura. Fight and battle on many occasions, put down mutinies, board enemy ships, and protect Imperial Navy installations.

In 982.M41 after 12 years of battle in the fleet and just after helping against the Komarl Revolt she was recruited into the Inquisition. She joined the Inquisitors retinue following him on his missions throughout five years between 982-987.M41. In 987.M41 she was adopted as an Acolyte after he lost his two current ones on a particular harsh mission. As an Acolyte she helped performing numerous task with her tutor,(987-991.M41) she became a Recongregationist as he was during their time together, a dangerous belief that preach the Necessity of Change, which would later in her career prove a fatal belief. To Recongregator Inquisitors, there is only one choice: the Imperium must be changed. That change may not beaccepted, understood, or desired, but it must happen lest all be lost. Those who rule mankind with the worn wisdom of the past must be replaced by those with those of vision and fresh ideals.

In 991.M41 she was ascended to the rank of Inquisitor and granted the feared Inquisitorial Rosette, After becoming a Inquisitor she joined the same Cell with her old Master. They worked together rooting out heretics, cults, witches and mutants 991-999.M41. Her old tutor got killed 999.M41, she got wounded but managed to go undercover and join a rogue trader to unknown space and safety.

The safety, the home like conditions on the ship, reminiscent of the Mordian underground hive cities.. The safe feeling of anonymity, the nice strict frames of the guard. All gone. Again she had to root up everything.. And start anew.

She repurposed one of the Vertrix shuttles, and took up the monotoneous work as a independent shuttle cargo pilot. Shipping, food, alchohol, lho-sticks and a vareity of other merchendice around the stations, moons and larger freighter ships.

Bastard Feudalism - Solat'suith - Cuckold Wizard of Oz

Username: Bastard Feudalism

Character Name: Solat'suith

Race/Species: Eldar

Gender: Male

Age: Around one-and-a-half centuries old

Career and Skills: Outcast Warlock.

Weapons: Shuriken Pistol, a sword that- if it wasn't for the Xenos origin -could be compared to the 'katana' of Feudal Japan on Ancient Terra. The blade is able to be folded, made of material that seems to eerily remain always sharp, extending into a full blade for combat.

Attire:The Eldar are, in the popular minds of the Imperium, a striking sight arrayed in clear wraithbone armor and uncanny face masks.Sol, as he is commonly called, does not indulge this, and instead dons the attire of a wander - a hooded cloak and assorted armor fitting a bounty hunter. Though he still carries wraithbone as much as he can, the material is hard to acquire and keep up out in mannish space. When casual occasions truly arise, he might be seen without all his travel and battle ridden over-wear, instead revealed in a comfortable under-robe of neutral colors fitting his frame sleekly.

Equipment/Other: Besides the sleek, bounty hunter-like armor fitted with assorted pieces of both Eldar and human make that Sol currently carries, the Ulthwe Outcast carries a few precious runes, his soul stone underneath his armor in the style of an amulet, and some simple items like a water sack and a small pouch of assorted currency.

Physical Description: Beyond being an Eldar (biologically tall and lithe to humans), Solat'suith has long, dark locks of hair that are typically tossled about in a mess, sometimes to one side. His eyes are a rare silvered grey, and as such, he can be mistaken for a dark cousin of the Webway without the jewelry and other adornments.

Mental Description/Personality:Being a longterm outcast at this point, Solat'suith is a much more ambivalent soul than the young Seer who fled from Ulthwe so many decades ago. Under neverending stress and danger from the warp and the ever growing threat of losing one's way, Eldar outcasts rarely last so long on their own.As such, Sol is on the brink: he knows he must return to Ulthwe to heal his mind and find sanctuary, but he cannot accept what that might bring, what punishments might await him for his decade-old actions, what impassioned feelings a homecoming would light aflame.

Solat'suith is historically unstable, but has been able to hide from the Warp's perils by adhering to a personal code.

Background/History:Solat'suith, or Sol, was born of Ulthwe, close to the Eye of Terror and the Deathbringers.He started on the Path of the Seer at an early age, harnessing his psychic energy under barriers much more easily than his childhood peers, and going under the tutelage of powerful seers, even learning from the Farseers at certain points.

Reaching a more mature age, Sol was abruptly shifted to join the Black Guardians, serving his Craftworld against the near Warp and some more distant dangers. This disrupted his development, throwing his balance into disarray, but he was kept along by the companionship of his friend and love, Evathema.

Some decades passed, his Solat'suith was able to return to the structure of the Witching Path, but found it different as he came back to it. Evathema scorned him for another, and Sol lost control of his emotions.

The other suitor was slain one night, and the perpetrator fled across space, taking up with a Corsair fleet.

Pericles of Athens - Orek - Native American Stereotype

Username: Pericles of Athens

Character Name: Orek

Race/Species: Kroot

Gender: Male

Age: 34

Career:
Hunter: Six years spent in the wilds of Pech alone, surviving the dangers hidden within its depths and hunting the beasts that call it home.
Carnivore: Twelve years fighting and consuming Dark Elves and Greenskins alongside his kindred.
Roving Mercenary: Orek has spent the last ten years hunting the largest beasts across the galaxy and taking contracts to fight the most dangerous sentient beings. He's consumed the strength of hundreds if not dozens of other warriors, from the primitive to the advanced.

Skills:
Night Vision: Orek's milky white eyes can see deep into the infrared spectrum and sense the heat exuded by friend and foe alike, even in pitch blackness.
Enhanced Senses: Kroot have numerous olfactory organs within their skull and mouth, allowing them to smell things others would miss. Kroot have Ganglia running through their quills allowing them to receive and interpret the smallest of details regarding the surrounding environment.
Super Sweat: A Kroot's sweat doubles as a heat retardant coating, a natural antibiotic and a defense against enemy attacks.
Language Acquirer: Kroot are efficient when learning foreign tongues, using the speakers body language to determine the meaning behind words.
Survivalist: In the years spent in the deepest darkest forests of Pech, he honed his natural abilities to survive in one of the most hostile environments in the galaxy.
Hunter Killer: Having hunted the greatest beasts across the galaxy, from barren desert worlds to humid jungle ones, Orek is an expert tracker in numerous environments and a renowned killer of brutish creatures.
Crack Shot: Orek was trained in the use of pulse rifles since he was old enough to hold one. Despite being profisicant with a gun he prefers to use weapons made for close quarters combat.
Close Quarters Expert: Orek can use an assortment of melee weapons to turn his foes into ribbons. Few can match the strength and speed that he's developed over his travels and taken from the DNA of the fallen.

Attire: Like the rest of his kind Orek wears simple straps and harnesses made primarily from animal hides. Adorned with bones, amulets and small trinkets from the foes he's slain. He wears thick plate shoulder pads made from Knarloc bone. He also wraps his hands and feet in strips of Krootox hide.

Equipment/Other: Skin pouch for drink, with a second one for meat, and a third one to hold grenades and bombs. A "pet" Kroot Hound named Prok. A reed carved into a musical instrument/whistle.

Physical Description:
With pupil less milky white eyes Orek has all the features expected of a Kroot. Including a beak, quills and a lanky build.
- He stands in at around seven foot six
- He has a deep dark green skin tone
- His quills are longer than those of most Kroot
- He has larger muscles than most Kroot, thanks to the consumption of Greenskins

Mental Description/Personality:
Agressive: The consumption of Ork flesh from his battles has instilled their aggressive nature directly into Orek's DNA. He isn't quick to anger, but once roused he is relentless and will wuickly go from being upset to jumping into a fighting stnce.
Xeno of Few Words: Orek doesn't speak often, when he does speak he says what he means and he means what he says.
Power Hungry: Orek is on the hunt for strength in his ventures across the galaxy, where that means manpower and money to most races it has a different meaning for Kroots. He seeks advanced alien technology and the DNA of the most powerful foes.
Savage: Orek enters a confrontation with a bloodlust few can match. He can be headstrong and brash, but also fearless and unpredictable.
Ravenous: Orek has a hunger for flesh that can not be sated, he left his kindred because they failed to provide him with the means to meet this insatiable hunger.
Nature Lover: Orek enjoys quietly contemplating natures wonder, even on the most hostile alien world.

Background/History: Born on the Kroot home world Pech, Orek began his fight for survival at a young age, deep within the primordial forests of his homeworld. He wanted to become a Carnivore at the age of four but the Shaper informed him it would be many moons before he could fight alongside the kindred. This angered Orek and bruised his prickly pride. Wishing to prove his strength to his people he ventured deep within one of cruelest and most ancient jungles on the planet at the age of six. He returned almost six years later to the day, in fact the day just before he was to become a man grown, with the severed head of some horrible twisted offshoot of the Kroot (those that hunt their own gentic relatives from the shadows) in tow. At that point the beast was the most powerful foe he'd consumed, and to this day Orek looks back upon the battle fondly and treasure's its warrior's spirit.

He gained great deals of respect from his people with that action and afterward took to the stars to do battle along side his kindred against the Greenskin hordes. He became a skilled and feared warrior in his time amongst his fellow Carnivores, earning a reputation as equal parts fearless, brutal and brash. Despite the success Orek couldn't help but feel like something was missing, like a hole in his stomach that couldn't be filled by the enemies his kindred were facing.

Eventually he parted ways with his kindred and made off to improve his skills, hopefully filling the hunger deep inside him in the process. Promising to return once he'd gathered enough wealth of DNA and killed enough fearsome beasts that he'd be satisfied with his position amongst the kindred. Leading him to venture across the galaxy in search of good fights and good food.. which are generally found in the same place for a Kroot.

Jokern - Commissar Terrela Fareton - Not A Very Good Commissar

Username: Jokern

Character Name: Terrela Fareton

Race/Species: Human

Gender: Female

Age: 77

Career (if any) and Skills:
In her service as a Commissar, she has gone through the strict and harsh training since a young age and has served as a Junior and regular Commissar in a Death Korps Grenadier Regiment for nearly 50 years.

Weapons:
Her weapons are a standard bolt pistol painted in grey and red, a power sabre with gilded hilt and a regular combat knife. Commissar Terella is also capable of wielding almost any weapon in the Imperial Officer’s Armoury, from lasguns to power fists and sniper rifles.

Attire:
As any Commissar, Terrela wears their standard uniform: black greatcoat with red lining on collar and cuffs and with gold and red epaulets, a black peaked officer’s cap with red lining and bearing the Aquila, black undercoat with gold braids over the chest, a red scar tied around the waist, black combat pants and combat boots. She almost always wears a black-painted Krieg skull rebreather mask with a tube to the filter fastened in her belt.

Equipment/Other:
Influenced by her years of service in the Death Korps of Krieg, Terrela carries only the most necessary equipment in the field: med packs, ammunition and a handbook containing the Imperial Creed. A servo-skull named Gustav follows her around everywhere.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.):
Commissar Terrela hides her appearance behind her uniform and rarely shows anyone what she looks like, though one can tell that she is of average height at 5' 11", and that her lower left arm is a robotic replacement, made and formed to look like a regular arm. Under her uniform Terrela have smooth dark olive skin and brown eyes. She is muscular and slim, with a narrow face, small nose and natural sized black eyebrows. Thanks to the medical advancement of the Imperium she looks thirty years younger than her actual age. Terrela’s most striking feature is that she is bald and that her head, face and upper left body are covered in long, pink scars resembling claw marks.

Mental Description/Personality:
Like all commissars, Terrela is iron-willed without a sense of humor. Compared to other commissars though, she is willing to compromise some of her demands on her new journey with Drake and his rag-tag crew. She often hides her emotions from others and never talks about her past, seeing it as weakness within herself. However, Terrela does care about the people around her and wants to help them, even if she shows it in her own, intimidating way. A fearless commander and soldier, she will spit Orks, demons and Tyranids in the face while holding her ground against hordes of enemies, a lacking sense of self-preservation gained from her years among Kriegans. Despite trying to be the perfect officer, her mental stability has been seriously questioned over the years. Terrela can from time to time breakdown in fits of hallucinations, causing her to uncontrollably scream and shake, leaving her incapacitated for long periods of time. Sometimes she also has major problems with sleep deprivation, waking up in the middle of the night screaming and sweating several times in a row.

Background/History:
Not much is known about Terrela’s past before being picked up by the Schola Progenium. All that is known is that she was an orphan living in the slums of an unknown world in Segmentum Solar. Indoctrination followed by strict and harsh training was her life from an early age. Showing signs of an ideal Commissar, she was assigned to a Commissar Training Squad as a Cadet Commissar. For ten years Terrela served in this squad, fighting for her life against staggering odds, where every breathing moment she was judged for her performance in close-to suicide missions. Her big break came when she executed one of her fellow cadets for trying to desert. That earned her a promotion to Junior Commissar and a new assignment.

Moving up to Junior Commissar, she was placed under Commissar Gustave Undin in the 450th Death Korps Grenadier Regiment from Krieg. Terrela’s role changed dramatically as the guardsmen from Krieg never ran from a battle, even when a retreat would be strategically better than defending their position. She fitted in quite well, with more efforts on making sure that the zeal of the regiment was tempered and acting as a tactical adviser.

One day on a death world where the regiment had been dispatched, a savage Greenskin was somehow able to get through their defensive lines and cut Commissar Gustave in half with his crude axe. In a blood rage, Terrela picked up a heavy lasgun and shot the Ork between the eyes, blowing away the Xeno’s head. With his dying breath, Gustave named her a full Commissar, taking his place in the 450th. Terrela led her Death Korps Grenadiers with such a zeal that the Orks were driven back and exterminated.

After this incident, Commissar Terrela served with her Death Korps Regiment for nearly 50 years, becoming a well-known exemplar of an ideal Commissar. She tutored several juniors on the battlefield. Some died; others she deemed worthy were made into full Commissars.

Everything changed when she turned 70. With her regiment placed on a heretic hive world, the job was simple enough: exterminate every heretic and bring the planet back into the Imperium in the name of the God Emperor. However, the planet was suddenly invaded by a Tyranid hive fleet that overwhelmed most Imperial Guard Regiments. The 450th held out for months on their defensive position, but as food and ammunition screw scarce, most prayed to the Emperor to save them, even Terrela. One fateful day when their ammunition had finally run out, the regiment was stormed by a massive horde of Tyranids. Fighting desperately with everything they had in their underground tunnels, every single guardsman was slaughtered. The salvation came when the Imperial Fists Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes landed on the hive world. The Tyranids were thrown off the planet and new Guardsmen could land and re-garrison the devastated world. One squad found Terrela under a giant Tyranid, lethally wounded yet still alive. A great part of her body was half-torn apart, but thanks to immediate aid and years of medical treatment, most of her tissue returned, although the scars were left and her lower left arm had been too injured to save.

It was during the rehabilitation that it was found that Terrela was suffering of severe mental trauma and the Commissariat deemed her unfit for duty. She spent another two years in the hospital before a man came to see her, offering her a new assignment on a Rogue Trader starship. Terrela, who wished to do her duty to the Imperium at any cost, gladly accepted and joined Horatio Drake’s crew.

After the events that led to the decay of the man who lifted her up from the bottom, the Commissar loyally followed him wherever he went, silently ignoring Drake's attempts to forget the past. As his second-in-command, she has to follow him and aid him in his quest for whatever it is he's searching for.

Vernon Roche - Norbert - The guy from the Ravenor Trilogy

Username: Vernon Roche
Character Name: Norbert Trout
Race/Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 51
Career and Skills:
Norbert has served both as a Field Chirurgeon and as an Imperial Guard Medic. Thus he is skilled in both the long-term recovery of injured soldiers and the immediate treatment of wounds in the heat of battle. First and foremost an Imperial Guard Medic is soldier and thus has received military training and knows how to handle himself in a combat situation.
Weapons: Lasgun, Combat Knife
Attire: Norbert wears the standard flak armor of the Imperial Guard.
Equipment/Other:
-Standard Imperial Guard Regimental Kit
-Diagnosticator: The Diagnostor is a sophisticated medical cogitator used across the human-settled galaxy. It can detect and diagnose almost every ailment known to the Imperium, and can be incorporated into medical kits, Servo-skulls, and other dedicated medical Servitors. Any individual trained in medical knowledge in the Imperial Guard understands its use.
-Injector: Most specialised drugs require injectors. These can take many forms, from low-technology, disposable syringes up to sophisticated hypo-sprays. An injector can hold one dose of any drug.
-Medikits: Small, compact, and reliable, medi-kits are essential gear for every Imperial Guard squad. Each comes with a diagnostic cogitator called a Diagnosticator complete with bio-scanner and bioprobes, along with chemicals, drugs, and other means to treat a variety of injuries and ailments.
Physical Description:
Norbert is 5'9 and rather stocky. He keeps his dark brown hair, which is graying, short and has a rather thick mustache. His body is full of scars, gained in many battlefields along the years.
Mental Description/Personality:
Norbert lost his innocence the first time he was deployed in battle, when he had to sever a soldier's limb. He has seen things that have had a deep impact in his conscience. He has become very detached and cynical.
Background/History:
Norbert was born in one of the Imperium's thousands of Hive Worlds. In his youth he enlisted and became an Imperial Guardsmen. In one of the planets he was deployed, he met a woman whom he married and had children with, two girls and a boy. He tries to see them every time he has a chance. He has served in many battlefields and has been close to death two times. Once after being hit by friendly artillery and the other when he was cornered by an Ork. Most recently he was assigned to a Rogue Trader's crew, to his surprise.

Iron Aquilifer - Torvan - Closet Illusive Man wannabe

Username: Iron Aquilifer

Character Name: Torvan Trask

Race/Species: Human, you damn dirty ape

Gender: Male

Age: 57

Career:
- Free Trader: Five years, acting as Executive Officer on board the merchant vessel Salamander Outcast
* First recorded interaction with Xeno on the planet DPAEX-1839204-TE. Alien technologies were exchanged for nine slaves
- Imperial Navy: Nine years, attaining the rank of Captain on board the cruiser Elegant Fury.
* Risked summary execution for accepting mercenaries and criminals in to his crew, accepted demotion and tasking to a Penal Legion escort squadron
* Earned local honours for his decisive actions during the Hole Nebula clash
- Planetary Defence Navy: Eight years, attaining the rank of Vice-Admiral
* Spent only eight terran standard months in command of any active vessels, resigned to overseeing refits for the remainder of his term
- Rogue Trader: Twelve years, three captaining the Snake of Truth, six the Astute Pearl. Currently captaining the Nightmare Sin
* Colonised the planet DPAEX-1839204-TE following the termination of a previous trade agreement
* Entered in to a trade war with the rival Rogue Trader Trinity Elis Mootz, the conflict becoming open war after Trask's vessel was lost with all hands in geostationary orbit. The conflict both parties exhausted both militarily and financially, the war ending with an unconditional ceasefire.
* Reported to have sought the support of the Xeno Druekurt from the Skiri star system for the aforementioned conflict
* Took a fleet in to the systems once home to the Egarian Dominion
* Lost the Astute Pearl to unknown circumstances
* Colonised the planets Torian and Tranis, exterminating its indigiuenous populations following their rejection of terms.

Skills:
- Experienced merchant: spent his early life bartering and trading between the Fringe Worlds, picking up on many of the tricks and stratagems that are used to drive a better bargain
- Veteran Naval Leader: from armed freighters to cruisers of the Imperial Navy, Tervan has been engaged in some bloody exchanges in the deep void, always emerging alive even if not unscathed
- Charismatic Leader: it comes less from his ability to speak to people and more from his responsibility of leading from the front. He is an imposing figure, and this lends itself well to him getting others to follow him
- Trained in close combat: he is a scion of an influential Rogue Trader dynasty and as such, was instructed by a dozen martial art experts and veteran soldiers and mercenaries in the ways of fighting man to man
- Trained with firearms: from the humble laspistol to the mystic Needle rifle, he has been trained and tested in the use of a myriad of common and unique weaponry in his line of service

Weapons:
- Egerian Shard Glaive
- Digi-laser: one of the Trask family heirlooms, a thick ring of metal and precious stones. It bears a ruby dragon and a blue obsidian griffin combatant on a diamond sunburst.
- Laspistol: ornate weapon covered in gold and platinum sigils of House Trask

Attire:
- Carapace armour: augmented with Egarian Geode Mesh. Otherwise it is a simple, battered set of carapace
- Tabard(s): they vary between green, purple and orange, precious stones adorn them in depiction of heroic tales from the Trask histories
- Trenchcoat(s): thick, open coat of various animal furs. Colour schemes vary from white and black to orange, green and violet.
- Bodyglove(s): lightly armoured and skin-tight of various colour schemes, the arms stopping just below the elbow and the legs before the knees, usually becoming the base for the carapace armour

Physical Description:
- Stands at 6ft 1in, broad of shoulder and long of limb with a face of sharp features and prominent jawline.
- Long ginger hair with white highlights. The highlights are often put up as a fan across the upper crown. Upon closer inspection it can be surmised that the hair is actually a synthetic replication.
- violet eyes with thick eyebrows and eyelashes all dyed white. Upon closer inspection one can see that the hair is actually metal substitutes.
- facial hair is trimmed to resemble some sort of predator's set of teeth
- dark skinned, covered in surgical scarring and burns
- augmented left hand: highly advanced and sleek, suggesting non-human workmanship
- sculpted muscle: firm, although due to extensive surgery and abnormal muscle movements, as well as heightened strength and tissue endurance it could be the product of subdermal implants and synthetic replacements
- There are more than the usual number of visible veins, each one appearing to be red or purple in colouring.

Mental Description/Personality:
- Self-confident: he was born to be better than everyone else, to go where no one else had the courage to go. His belief in his own abilities are not misplaced.
- Short Temper: failure cannot be accepted, nor can incompetence or opposition. And as such, he finds it hard to remain composed, turning to violence before anything else.
- Stubborn: it is his way or the highway, as they say. He will drive on despite cost or risk of failure, such is the nature of his work.
- Wary of the inquisition: they do not understand what he is doing, all they see is the heresy and condemn.
- Open to the Xeno: his father worked with the alien; his grandfather with the unclean; his father before that devoted his life to working alongside the enigmatic races within the deep of the void. He will kill them, happily, but there is no prejudiced hatred aside from the knowledge of being a superior.
- The Flesh is Weak!: maybe it is a luxury of the rich and powerful, but it is a calling to Tervan to go under the knife in order to exchange the warm for the cold.
- Ruthless: if you want to get anywhere you need to kill. Kill now so that you are not killed next.
- Pragmatic: useless things have no place in the galaxy and as such, Torvan will see it eliminated.
- Paranoid: if humans wanted to kill you, Xenos wanted to enslave you and the Gods wanted to consume your soul, wouldn't you be a bit wary?
- Obsessive: be it his augmentation, the search for alien artifacts or the drive to slaughter all foes, Trask will not stop until he has what it is he is seeking.

Background/History:
- Born in a palace on the peak of Mount Blanche on the planet Atoris, Torvan was the firstborn and only child of Eliza and Sapphire Trask. From his birth, the child was set on the path of becoming his father's successor, himself an only child. Until the age of twelve, the child was confined to the palace limits. This was not something which he grew resentful for, the palace incorporating a town full of servants and several vast gardens so that during his limited free time, Torvan had plenty of room to live. Trained by specialists and trusted household members, the young noble was instructed in how to become a warrior and merchant, a priest and explorer. He was tested physically and mentally to ensure that the dynasty would not collapse with him at its head.
- As a birthday present, he was gifted his very own shuttle with which to travel across the globe. Flying it himself, the young boy, accompanied by an entire wing of fighters and support craft, spent four years indulging in his childhood curiosity, searching every crofter's hovel and riverbed. He dined with planetary dignitaries and gifted rations to starving miners. He soaked up the culture of the high and the low before returning home, his eyes opened to a life in which not everyone had everything.
- Whatever noble thoughts he held while away from home, upon returning to the palace of gold and marble the young boy settled back in to the life of luxury without as much as a comment in relation to the commoners he had saved from starvation for four years. Lavish parties were thrown, growing and growing is size and scope until the entire mountain was host to such debauchery as to sicken any watchers. He developed a belly, heavy and sagging. Breasts developed and his limbs played host to a hundred puncture marks where he had allowed one governor's son or another to inject him. Perpetually smelling of the vomit of a dozen lovers, the young man was nothing but a disgrace to himself and his family.
- It was his twenty-third nameday, the day his father returned richer than ever that the young noble was forced to answer the call of duty. Beaten, humiliated by the man who conceived him, Torvan was kicked out, smuggled on to a transport freighter and told that he had to return only after he had become a man.
- Signing on with the first Free Trader that would accept his application, the penniless nobleman found himself working on an undermanned vessel that fell apart each time it entered and exited the Warp. Paid in alcohol, stale rations and rags, he lost the weight gained over seven years of excessive partying. He smelled of sweat and oil instead of vomit. His arms were covered in burns instead of holes. To anyone who remembered the party prince, watching the man stepping off of the Salamander Outcast after it final voyage was seeing a complete stranger. This one was tall, lean, a hungry look in his eyes, and was in a position of responsibility.
- With no ship to serve on, Torvan was convinced to sign on with the Imperial Navy. Using both his heritage and his former captain's connections, the exiled nobleman was made Lord-Lieutenant on the cruiser Redoubt Sanity. This position he held for several years before seeing himself elevated to captain with the deaths of nigh on the entirety of the bridge staff.
- He held the title for little under a year, during which he took certain liberties with the running of the vessel. While such actions tended to leave the crew as a whole happier to have him as their leader, the sanctioning of mercenary and criminal elements to secure positions on the ship saw the threat of execution held over him. Again, his family name came to the rescue, although not entirely ridding him of the political backlash.
- In command of a small escort vessel assigned to the Penal Legion "The Lambs of Darneus", the Rogue Trader's son was enamored by his first officer, a relationship which could have cost the two their commissions if it ever got in to the light. Fortunately, or indeed, unfortunately, the officer in question died during Torvan's redeeming action at the Hole Nebula clash.
- For the remainder of his three years, Torvan served with relatively-little distinction, only ever seeing large-scale combat five times before his return to Atoris. He was personally credited to five kills of rival cruisers in his service, alongside the orbital fortress at the Hole Nebula. All other claims are jointly claimed or disputed.
- Did he receive a warm welcome as befitting a hero of the Imperium? Planets had been conquered without a shot due to his aggressive piloting of his vessel. Rebel fleets had been ripped apart thanks to his unorthodox interpretation of the military stratagems. The line had held due to his unwillingness to turn from the foe. The size of the cheering crowds must have blanketed the globe, surely?
- After three tense months within the palace, Torvan left and returned to the only thing he had known: space. With his father's failing health urging him to remain within easy reach, the grown man joined the PDN of Atoris, quickly rising the ranks as the only truly experienced commander among the officer class. That and they literately owed their positions to the Trasks.
- His father died with much pomp and fanfare, the palace turning out to witness his last proclamation before he turned his ring upon himself. The laser beam took him in the throat, as clean a suicide as any other.
- With the Warrant passing over to him, Torvan immediately set his affair straight, leaving the PDN, never to return. The palace was granted to his mother, an empty gesture given that the entire household owed Torvan their loyalty and all finances went through him.
- Finding his feet as quickly as any trained fighter could, Lord Trask embarked on several short voyages of discovery, testing the vessel which had severed as flagship for his predecessors.
- More to come...

SilverLich - Oswald Grafton - A Knight Who Escaped the Mad House

Username:SilverLich

Character Name: Oswald Grafton

Race/Species: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 38

Career (if any) and Skills:

Career:
Served as knight on his native world for eleven years.
Bodyguard.

Skills: Trained in many arts of combat, Oswald has learned to handle the weapons of a noble, but has taught himself how to wield the weapons of the commoners of his world with ease, and is a skilled duelist by their standards.

Weapons:

Personal power sword "Shadowslayer"
Dagger

Attire: When not wearing his armor, Oswald wears a green tunic and grey pants, and almost always has a pair of gloves covering his hands.

Equipment/Other:

A tear shaped pendent- His father called a flame, while he and his grandfather call it a tear, the Grafton family has held this item for generations, and have relied on it greatly in times of strife.
Shield- A basilisk poised to strike is emblazoned on it, the perfect creature for him he has said to those who ask about it: relentless, fierce, and rarely forgetful on an enemy.

Standing at about five foot eight inches, Oswald is as strong as any other knight from his home planet, an imposing figure that can match any man in physical combat. He keeps himself as cleanly shaven as he can and his hair short enough to fit inside his helmet, a small number of scars adorning his face from his years of combat and his sky blue eyes piercing everyone who meets his gaze. A single large one runs from the back of his left shoulder to the right side of his hip from a grave mistake he made on the battlefield.

Mental Description/Personality:

Brought up on a world where a majority of the nobility was willing to stab one another in the back to increase the power of their family, Oswald has learned to keep people at a distance, and tries not to reveal too much out of fear that it might be used against him. His arrival into the galaxy has made him unsure of whether he should finally let his paranoia lessen, or remain the knight clad in steel who sought to cleanse himself of that den of madness through battle and war. Aside from that, the prospect of exploring the galaxy has left him with a small sense of hope that there is something better than his home that he can find. He even believes he has seen it in his dreams, following the advice of strange voice he has started hearing ever since he started wearing the pendent.

Background/History:

The second son of the Grafton family, Oswald never really desired the title of heir or anything that had to do with his family the politics of their world. The noble families of his world always competed to be the best and most powerful, with alliances, standing, and so many aspects of ones family changing almost every year due to the machinations of the nobility. There was little that Oswald could do to get away from the nobility, but ever since he could hold a sword, he had trained to fight in the hopes of one day becoming a knight and getting as far away from noble houses as he could. He knew it would take time, and would still be doing his family's dirty work, but it was the only path he could find that let him retain his honor. On the day he left to fight one of the many wars going on between the houses, his grandfather approached him, and gave him his personal heraldry, the last relic their family had of a time when the houses had something that resembled dignity and decency, and a blue tear shaped pendent, which his grandfather said had helped their family in times of strife and despair.

For ten years he fought in numerous battles and wars between the families, trying to hold onto the belief that he could salvage something of his home, to try and make it all stop, raising his grandfather's banner in every battle he fought in an effort to make the people remember the old days. His eleventh year of fighting was when the Imperium made contact with his world, and a grand tourney was held, in honor of their guests. Oswald competed with one hundred other knights, mercenaries, and anyone else willing to fight, and it was there that he found a new patron. He found himself among the finalists when a blow to the head knocked him out, but his show of skill and prowess in combat had impressed on of the visiting dignitaries enough that he sought to hire Oswald as a bodyguard.

He told the knight of what lay outside his planet, of the wonders he could see, and even offered to give him a sword that would put all others on this planet to shame. Seeing an opportunity to leave, Oswald took it, and traveled with his new patron for a time, finding wonders, both good and evil, before he was assassinated by what he could only describe as a mad man, later being told that he was a cultist of the ruinous powers.

Without a real purpose, Oswald drifted around the area, trying to maintain his honor and find a reason to go on, which was when he first started hearing the voice when he slept. It began to guide him towards traveling further than just in the system, until he finally found the drive to find a rogue trader willing to take him on, hoping to find a place where could take as many as he could from the madness of his home.

Chesser2538 - Commander Irons - Not Jeremy Irons!

Username: Chesser2538

Character Name: Commander Victor Irons

Race/Species: Human

Gender: Male

Age: 45

Career (if any) and Skills:

Skills:
Having served in the Imperial Guard and Navy, Irons is equally versed in land and space combat, tactics, and technology. He has also developed strong leadership and organizational skills, as well as proficiency with most of the standard weapon and gun systems. He is also a respectable pilot of cruisers and escorts, but he prefers to leave the helm to subordinates, to better focus on commanding the battle. Cadian Training: Cadian training emphasizes strength, stamina, marksmanship, self-sacrifice and above all discipline.

Career:
Inducted at 16 into a Whiteshield Platoon and trained at a castellum.
Transferred to one of Cadia's officer training corps to receive his education on the frontlines.
Commissioned as a Lieutenant in the Cadian shock troops.
Promoted to Captain for time in service.
Transferred commission to the Imperial Navy as a Flag Lieutenant and Stationed on the Lunar Class Cruiser Goliath
Promoted To Lieutenant Commander
Retired from service with full pension
Signed on with Rogue Trader group,
Fleet was nearly wiped out by Dark Eldar pirates.
Crew disbanded Irons sets off to find new crew to join.

Items:

Weapons:
Primary: One Las Carbine
Secondary: A modified Naval Shot Cannon: won in a wager against a retired fleet admiral. It has been modified to fire semi-auto, has been cut down in weight and size by use of a custom casing and lighter metals. It sports a quick release sling, and red dot/laser sight
Sidearm: One Naval Pistol
Eight charge Packs (Las Carbine)
Five charge Packs (Naval pistol)
50 Shot Shells (Naval Shot Cannon)- divided among belt and sling
Two Blind Grenades
Three frag Grenades
Two krak Grenades
Power Sword (Mordian) w/shock generator added into the guard.
w/ fire selector, photo sight, and quick snap rail system

Attire:
Equipment/Other:
One set of Cadian Flak Armour w/ Cameleoline lining
One Cadian tri-dome helmet
One load-bearing pack
Rough weather protection
One set of weapon repair tools
One mess kit, One water canteen
One blanket, One sleep bag
One rechargeable lamp pack
One grooming kit
One set of dog tags
Combat sustenance rations, four weeks’ supply
One pair of filtration plugs
One mark XI re-breather
One MediKit
One Glow-Globe
One set of Magnoculars
One Officers microbead
One Multi-Compass
One Navis Prima

Mental Description/Personality:
Irons is a very self-driven person, drawing his motivation from his actions and accomplishments. He holds a strong measure of discipline and routine, and is disgusted by cowardice in men. Throughout his career he has tried to instill knowledge and skills in others, to differing degrees of success. His thinking is rational, if somewhat cold and collected at times. He is a man of action in the face of a threat to his person. In the command room he hides his emotion, not letting his worry show. He is loyal to those he trusts, but the worst nightmare to those that have made him their enemy.

Background/History:
Born on Cadia to parents who were both in the defense force; With a father an officer in the Imperial air fleet, and a mother serving on a hospital ship, his conception was unlikely but not unwelcomed; with his parents marrying shortly after the pregnancy was discovered. Victor has a normal if somewhat regimental childhood. Growing up in the base schools systems, he was taught to strip, assemble and shoot a Lasgun before he even knew how to write. AT 6 Years of age Victor’s father was killed during the engagement Hive Fleet Gorgon, an event that pushed changed him, making him strive to be his own man, and strive for greatness, just like how his father was great. On Cadia as soon as children are of age, every Cadian teenager is inducted into the Youth Armies, organized into Whiteshield platoons and trained under grueling conditions at a castellum. When not in combat alongside the Shock Troopers these Youth Armies fight mock battles against each other in the Cadian wilderness. Victor was no exception. In fact he thrived in it. At 19 years of age Victor was among one of the Cadian cadets who show enough leadership abilities during their stint as a Whiteshield to be transferred to one of Cadia's renowned officer training corps and receive their education on the front lines.

Following the completion of his training, Victor was commissioned into the Cadian 8th Shock Troops as a Lieutenant. It was here that Victor, now Lieutenant Irons, would gain his first real taste of command, leading his men into engagements, raids, and scouting missions. During this time He caught the eye of the company commander; Captain Vickers. He would act as a mentor throughout his service with the guard, and would even be the one to pin the bars on Irons shoulders when he was promoted to Captain to replace the then advancing Major Vickers. As a captain, Irons would serve with distinction. An interesting event to not is that which occurred during a poker game with a visiting Rear Admiral, and a Battalion Intelligence officer. After the admiral; who in his defense was rather drunk, wagered more than he could afford, was forced to give his custom Naval ShotCannon in payment to a victorious Irons. Who surprisingly had won with a bluff of a pair of sixes.

The Admiral though had the last laugh, as he would then “volunteer” Irons to transfer into a Naval Security Battalions on the Lunar Class Cruiser Goliath. Now a Flag Lieutenant in the Imperial Navy, Irons would find the adjustment from his familiar guard lifestyle into the almost alien, naval hierarchal class based corps difficult to say the least. But he would still do his duty, and attempt to lead his men the only way he knew how; from the front, leading by example, and by instilling training and discipline to an extent that by the time he left, the Security Battalion aboard the Goliath were among the best fighting forces in the fleet.
For the rest of his time with the fleet, irons would still attempt to do his best, but by then he had begun to become disillusioned with the navy, having only been promoted to Lieutenant Commander, while other officers with less experience than him were being raised to the Admiralty. At 40 years of age, Irons would retire from the fleet and set out back to Cadia, but fate had other plans for him.

On some way world that hardly bears mention, Irons happened into a conversation with none other than his old commander a now retired General Vickers. Their conversation eventually led to Vickers future plans. Irons discovered that his old friend had gained himself a Warrant of Trade, and was here looking for a crew. Abandoning his plans of returning home, Irons signed on immediately. After gaining a few other members, including an Ork and a rather irritable ratling they set off.
Here Irons would stay for the next 4 years, engaging in exploration, battle, and interstellar trade. Over this time Irons began to relax and experience to universe for himself, instead of the isolated narrow version he had lived for the past 40 years. His values changed as he saw the grand scope of the imperium and its true goals. This time of excitement and freedom would change though. For as the traders were returning with a rather good haul from an outer rim planet, they were set upon by a fleet of dark elder pirates. The engagement would last through the night with losses on both sides. By the time the crew was able to limp back into friendly space, Vickers was dead, with most of the crew sharing the same fate. In wake of the attack, with Vickers dead, the remaining crew decided to disband and go their own way. Irons would find himself spending the next 6 months drinking himself into a coma each night until finally he gained enough sense to realize that those who were lost would want him to go on. So still mourning the loss of his friends, Irons has set off to find a new crew and a new cause to attach himself to.

Ace_General - William Bragg - Scion of a superhuman, yet very unlucky, family

Skills: -Firearms FanaticMost people who have attained pormence in the dark Universe of WH40k have training and familarity with weapons. But being born in the lawless Koronous expanse, Bill was almost born with a stub pistol in his hand. From as long as he can remember he has been fascinated with firearms. As a child he praticed every day with his pellet rifle and since the age of 12 has carried some kind of pistol. From the age of 16, every day of his life he has practiced his skill with some kind of firearm and has used them in the line of duty with some regularity since then. Since his wounding at the hands of the dark eldar, the replacement of his right eye with a augmetic, and augmentations to the speed of processing in his brain to allow him to helm a starship has lead him to be a very fast and accurate shot. So good, in fact taht combined with his natural talent and skill he has taken the gold consistently in Battlefield Koronous marksmanship competitions, and showing up with his navy auto-shotgun has bested the sons of noblemen in the various highborn shotgun matches.

-Piloting and master Voidship captain
From a young age, while not matching his enthusiasm for weaponry, Bill has been interested in spacecraft and flying vechicles. As a young boy and in his early teens, his father taught him the basics of piloting both small craft and starships. As a young man working for his uncle and the Koronous Rangers, he oftentimes flew his own ships, both due to the lack of pilots on the frontier and as a sort of hobby. In the Navy, he signed on to all kinds of tatical simulations, from the smallest fighter craft to wargames involving fleets. Despite not being a qualified Fighter pilot, his captain let him occasionally go into battle on one of the spare fighters, thinking that if the low-born upstart curr dies in the void, one less thing to worry about. Upon his promotion to Lt., he threw himself into learning everything about voidship combat, participating in numerous wargames and simulations and getting neural augmentations normally reserved for full captains. And then shorty after when being promoted to captain going off on one ship pirate hunting patrols have fought in over a dozen engagements, several of which were mentioned in dispatches across the Expanse

-Mechanical proficency
Because of his interest in both weaponry and spacecraft, bill became a very curious tinkerer and mechanic from his early teens. Because of this, before the death of his father he considered becoming a tech-priest and wished to join the explorator fleets plying the expanse. And even afterwards in his enlistment in the navy, he was always seeking to understand the technical systems surrounding him and modifying his personal weaponry, to the displeasure and great annoyance of the tech priests around him, though the expanse is a long way indeed from mars, so such was tolerated.

-Master Void QCB leader and Instructor
With a decent level of firearms and close range combat experience as a young man as well as law enforcement experience, Bill was a natural to be a Master at arms and lead Armsmen in the many boarding operations that a ship on the Kronos expanse would engage in. He served with distinction in multiple engagements and even single handedly felled a Dark eldar in hand to hand combat while leading a boarding operation on a derelict pilgrim ship. Since then, Bill has overseen the training of his men, even down to the meanest rating in drills and instruction in close quarters battle on a ship and has personally lead some of these training operations to personally demonstrate what he has learned and keep his skills sharp

Weapons:
-Two custom matching engraved .50 caliber revolvers marked "Fury" and "Retribution" worn in a gunbelt,(can shoot a variety of rounds from plain LRN bullets like found in the old west to hi velocity reduced caliber custom bolt rounds[very rare])
-Cutdown Las-pistol in deep concealment as a backup/holdout gun
-Boot knife
-Power Bowie knife worn on the gunbelt at '6 oclock
-Custom semi auto-10 gauge shotgun with a variety of ammo(including a few executioner rounds bought under shady circumstance)

Attire: Wears his Navy Cap, usually at an angle on his head and an elaboratly tooled and engraved gronx leather holster for his shootin' Irons everywhere, usually custom navy pattern boots in customized grox hide, cargo pants and Imperial navy tunics, occasionally a mechanics jumpsuit or an old B grade uniform jacket when needing to look semi presentable. Also occasionally a navy issue wool sweater Wears his "Calixis Max", worn in a manner and in appearance resembling a WW1 Iron Cross but with a Skull in the middle and a Aquila on the top arm, in addition to a old silver chain and a small silver Aquila that he never removes. (OOC: Think a mix of cowboy and WW2 u-boat captain)

Equipment/Other: Tactical style chest rig with flak armor for when things get hairy, right eye lost while fighting Dark Eldar Pirates, replaced with a bionic eye. Medical kit in the tatical loadout. When casual, a few speedloaders for his guns and a small toolkit and flask.

Augmetic eye able to see in multiple spectrum

Neural augmentations: A data imput at the base of his skull to interface with a Imperial Navy Starship, as well as a implant that allows his mind to process information much faster then a normal human, which allows him to analyze and plan a situation extremely quickly, as well as when needed slow down his perception of time to almost Eldar levels, though most senses besides the augmatic eye struggle to keep up with this state

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): 6'4" with broad shoulders and a very solid and muscled, but not overly toned or fat(sorta like a construction worker or a man who does manual labor) His remaining left eye is steely blue, right eye is replaced with a augmeatic one, has scaring around the right eye, temple, and cheekbone from a shattered ricochetted needle projectile. Strong forearms and a Iron grip strength. Very dark blond/light brown hair, usually some stubble growing. A few flecks of grey at the temples and beard. A rather long square face with a strong jaw and large forehead. Hair is in a traditional mans haircut, but is often a few inches longer then regulation and unkempt

Mental Description/Personality: -Straight TalkingGrowing up out in the frontier of the Expanse and among plain honest hardworking people, Commander bill speaks directly and honestly. He perceives the exquisite vocabulary and doublespeak of the core worlders and nobility as effete and disingenuous.

-Personal faith in the Imperial Creed
As opposed to more official brands of the imperial creed that is very xenophobic and dogmatic and outwardly focused, listening to the backwoods preaches and his own experiences has lead him to develop a different style of faith. One that instead of going about at slaying the alien and heretic and only cynically following the rituals of the faith to one in which on a very personal level it is thought that the emperors and saints are with you and watching over you and one can commune with them, and one can assure salvation by doing one's duty, sincere personal faith, and doing what is thought to be self evidently right and watching out for the people around you. Also his faith gives him the unfortunate trait of standing up for what he thinks is right in the Imperium of WH40k

-Recognizes Merit over birth status
Somewhat resentful and occasionally insubordinate of leaders and his peers who owe what they have to birth verses virtue and Merit, and also those who follow regulations without thinking. Will go along with it if it is required for the chain of command, but has fought duels with several of his peers over mistreatment of his men and in once case killed a fellow Lt. in a duel over beating a gun captain to death over a unbuttoned jacket.

-Values Practicality over Honor/convention
Bill thinks honor is an outdated concept in the present day world. He is disgusted by cynical and hypocritical nobles and fellow officers who act one way in public, but in private are just as sinful and lecherous as the lowest down rating. After all, when the pin hits the shell and you go to see the big E, does it really matter when you stand in judgement if your subordinates thought you were an "honorable man". Not to mention that the whole concept of "Honor" and "Convention" when fighting seems to him like a stupid idea, as when it kicks off in a fight, it doesnt matter which man fought in a more "honorable" or "correct" manner, just which side was able to walk away and which side ended up sent to the warp.

Background/History: William grew up on the Imperial Settler worlds on the bare edge of Imperial space in the Kronus expanse. His family was involved with mining and Bill's father worked in his family's business as a freighter campaign. As a young boy, William lived equally on the voids of space and in the rough spaceports and mining camps out at the edges of Imperial space. With the lack of a formal education and stable upbringing like a boy on a core world, Bill was taught by his mother and father on void voyages and planetside learned all kinds of activities such as fighting, hunting, riding,shooting, tinkering with machinery, and getting in all kinds of trouble. From these formative experiences, Bill would devlop a life long love of weaponry and shooting and mechanics.

At the age of 15, his father's ship was destroyed by Dark Eldar pirates while bill was onboard, and he was only saved that day by a kind passenger taking him aboard his souped up interplanetary shuttle while his father detonated the core of his ship after the eldar boarded to save his crew the horrors of eldar slavery and to take as many of the bastards with him as he could and from that day on developed a hatred of the Dark Eldar and a burning desire to join the Imperial navy. For the next several years he lived with his uncle who was head of an important mining consortium and worked as head of security and learned everything he could about navagation, starship mechanics and handling, and combat, personally leading posses at mining camps to hunt down fugitives and small time inter-system pirates, earning half a dozen notches on his pistol and a offer from the Kronus Rangers branch of the Adeptus Arbities to bring law to the vast expanse of Imperial frontier space at the age of 18. Bill spent years working with the Rangers, hunting down smugglers, fugitives, and criminals.
After several years with the rangers, Bill instead choose to join the Imperial navy and requested a posting on the patrol frigates out hunting pirates and backcountry planets. Bill's application was accepted, and with his experience, he was made Midshipman and Master at Arms, Bervert Lt. of a Cobra class frigate. Bills experience with the Rangers served him well on commanding the armsmen of his ship on all kinds of operations, from standard board and search of merchants for contraband and revenue, to boarding Pirate vessels to planetside operations to evacuate civilians to being the first planetside response to distress calls from frontier planets. During all of this, as a midshipman, Bill learned the workings of space navigation, void combat, but was especially interesting in the mechanical workings of the ship, from the propulsion system to every weapon onboard, and becomming one of the best shots with a pistol and shotgun in the squadron.

During this time, he encountered a supposedly dead cargo freighter that put out a distress call. Upon boarding the ship, he found almost everyone mutiliated and murdered in horrific manner, safe for one badly wounded man screaming of warp monsters. Suddenly, dark eldar came out of the shadows intending to capture the armsmen and board the frigate. In the initial volley, Bill caught micro fragments of the ricochet of a needle weapon destroying his right , but leading his remaining men he fought on like a bastard, gunning down dark eldar with his well honed skills with a bolt-revolver and autoshotgun, and even engaging a wounded Dark Eldar who surprised him in hand to hand combat, wrestling the sinuous and agile creature down in a blind range and stabbing and beating it to death with his fists and boot knife while screaming his fathers name. He was found by his men screaming and sobbing uncontrollably while pounding his bloody fists and marring the dark eldars body beyond recognition with his knife when his men finally pulled him off the vile xenos.

For this seemingly superhuman feat in single handedly felling a dark Eldar and leading his men out of the ambush, Bill was decorated with the "Calixis Max" and promoted to Lt. and was seen on the fast track to be promoted to command his own ship one day. But Bill was deeply scarred by the event, suffering internal bleeding and massive facial scars, and being unable to speak or hear for a week afterwards. Instead of taking credit personally for the action, Bill inisited that St. Macarihus and the Emperor watched over him and guided his hand and gave him strength to pay back to the vile xenos what they had wrought to his father and mother and when one looks at the strength and skill of the dark eldar in close combat, it perhaps is a minor miracle Bill was able to escape with his life, much less prevail. Some whispered he was aided by vile powers of the warp and Khrone, while others stated that he hold the divine favor of the Emperor.

From that day on, bill being not the most pious fellow, prone to drink, pride, fighting, and whores cleaned up his life, married his sometimes girlfriend and became a deacon in the imperial cult and a sometimes preacher aboard his ship and stations they docked at, being seen around the sector as the man who single handedly killed a xenos and has the divine favor of the emperor. He began giving sermons and speaking to his men on an irregular basis, with ideas from his frontier upbringing of a personal faith in the Imperial Creed and the equality of all men in death when judged by the Emperor brought him the ire of the Imperial establishment, thin on the ground it was in the Expanse, but growing popularity with Enlisted voidsmen and the common people.

In response to his growing popularity and distinguished record of service, the Imperial Navy commanded decided to kick him upstairs by giving him command of a frigate and commissioned him as a commander and assigned him patrol routes deep into the Kronous expanse and across distant frontier worlds, where Bill was to be out of the Imperium's hair for long periods of time, was not likely to return from, and would also possibly even hunt down some Pirates and Eldar and glean some information about the various xenos.

Upon his commissioning as captain of the Frigate "In his Holy Name", bill quickly recruited an volenteer crew of his followers, as well as taking aboard any man, regardless of his past who wished to atone for his sins and do his duty to the Imperium of man. With this all volunteer crew, he went into the void to see what he could do to do what in his mind was "A Mission from the Emperor" (OOC: Blues brothers intonation implied lol)

With the all volunteer crew of the faithful, perhaps due to Bill's skill, perhaps due to just the higher morale and skill of a crew that is not press ganged scum, or due to the faith of 25,000 faithful souls giving them protection from Chaos and blessings of he Emperor, or all 3, somehow for 7 years after every patrol "In His Holy Name" showed up at Port Wanderer, battered perhaps, and with heavy losses, but still there. With every patrol, the fame of the ship and its commander grew and despite the heavy losses, there was no shortage of faithful volunteers. This disturbed the Imperial Navy command and other figures of Imperial government, so "In His Holy Name" was sent on increasingly risky missions. One day, Commander Bills luck ran out when 5 dark eldar corsairs attacked a pilgrim ship, and Bill came in guns blazing, destroying 2 of them and personally leading his men into a boarding action against the crews of the 3 corsairs docked to the pilgrim ship. The battle sawed back and forth for several hours, until 2 more Eldar ships showed up and shot "In His Holy Name" to hell and the docked Frigate, pilgrim ship, and 2 of the eldar Corsairs crashed into the nearest planet. While most of the crews of the ship survived, several thousand of Bills men survived along with scores of Eldar and for 2 weeks a bloody battle on the surface across the wrecked ships raged. Finally, the Imperials purged the Eldar and managed to put out a distress signal and was picked up by a merchant convoy and returned to port Wanderer a hero.

For this operation, the Imperial navy decided to promote Commander Bill to full captain and put him in command of either logistics, or some god forsaken capital ship in the reserve fleet deep inside the Calixis sector. But before the question honor of a promotion to a backwater posting could be bestowed, two hired guns posing as chaos cultists attempted to assassinate him. Bill killed the men before their guns could clear their holsters, but his men investigated the assassins privatly, and it was seen that the powerful noble house, working in concert with a very puritanical inquistor of the Ordo Heriticus sent the men after him for his popularity and un-orthodox preaching. Realizing what would happen in the near future should he go into the Calixis sector with the Inquisition after him, he desperately seeks a way to avoid accepting the promotion and posting to certain death, while not turning his back on his duty to the imperium or doing anything overtly heretical

Zectorman - Abraham Vola - A One Way Ticket to Oddworld

Username: Zectorman

Character Name: Abraham Vola

Race/Species: Homo Navigo, Navigator

Gender: Male

Age: 65

Career (if any) and Skills: He is a navigator with a few tricks up his sleeve involving his third eye. A window into the Warp, though he might seem simple, he is a living Hazard and should never be taken lightly.

Weapons: His third eye for one of course. Dual Stubber pistols kept at his sides (He likes to pretend he is a cowboy of old terran vids) One Ornate Mono-Blade

Attire: Wears a hooded robe with chest flak armor on top of it. Standard dress though color with the green and streaks of dark purple. Has seen lots of wear and tear.

Equipment/Other: Pack of Ihlo sticks. Various drugs to dampen pain. special Headband to protect third eye.

6'3", Pale white ,very lanky, No hair expect for a small pony tail filled with grey hair. Has thin but wirey muscles. He stands a little hunched over. His eyes (his normal* ones) lack an iris but are a color like a man with a septic liver; all yellow with a black dot for a pupil, red blood veseels streaking off of it.

Mental Description/Personality:

Easy going is what this ab-human exudes on a daily basis.
Hired out of the Noble house of Vola at a young age, all he has known is service.
Not known to be a particularly powerful navigator, he was given to the Rogue trader as per an agreement between the two noble houses. He does his work without too much complaint and all he asks is a none stop supply of various sedatives and other drugs to keep himself calmed down.
Not particularly violent towards others, he is not afraid to remove his hood or head band to kill someone if they interrupt his addled thoughts or threaten to harm him in anyway. He enjyos lots of holovids and food of all sorts, all he can afford considering his noble families wealth.
Though not particularly strong, one might be suprised how fast his hands might move towards his pistols or your neck, or how strong he is as his chokes you to death while having an episode. Though his exteroir might be easy going and for the most part friendly.
His inner thoughts are turbulent and random. Anxiety, fear, pain, loathing and wishfulk thinking parade around his head at all times. Hopeing one day he will be recalled from working with the Rogue trader and take him away from the dangers of space.

Background/History:

Born into the Noble house of Vola, Terran native, has his lineage traced back to the Great crusade, named after a great X10 Uncle who Navigated in the Macharious crusades. Or at least thats what he has been told and remembers his family telling him growing up. Initally thought of as one of their brightest stars within the family, his Navigator genes showing no over obvious signs of mutation aside from his eyes. His skill improved throughout his lessons and he was quite adapt at the other applications used for his eyes as well. Many had him pegged for piloting some of the more prestigious vessels within the Imperium, for Space marines some whispered, A Navigator for a great crusade others said. Of course none of these came to pass, for as time passed, Abraham, or Abe as he likes to be called, harboured no real ambitions for these things instead beleived in taking it easy, not caring for power or prowess or ambtion for that matter. He became more of a striment and a massive disapointment to his family, and with that just about gave him away in one of their lesser contract with The trader house of Trask. Abe did not complain or mind as long as he was well supplied and relativelty comfortable. The less troubles the better.

4. The Cold War - http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Cold_War
The Great Galactic War is over, yet total peace is not ensured, only a treaty that temporarily, at best, keeps the tide of war from continuing. The result of the humiliating Treaty of Coruscant, the Cold War is a period of the tenuous peace between the victorious Sith Empire and the weakened Galactic Republic. The Jedi, with public opinion heavily against them, have removed themselves from the devastated world of Coruscant to the planet of Tython, humiliated and broken. The victorious Sith Empire has been bled to the point of breaking; the last ditch surprise attack on Coruscant managed to help them win a war that was slowly turning into attrition. Yet worse is when the Sith Emperor shows no signs of complete and total domination. He goes into isolation, leaving the Dark Council, a body of twelve Sith Lords, to rule in his stead. This only breeds a new kind of war for not only the Republic and the Empire, but also within the Empire. Proxy wars pop up all along the borders of the two sovereign nations threaten the tenuous and bloody peace to break apart while ambitious factions among the Sith Lords threaten to rip apart the Sith Empire from within. Again, we can play either side of this era, the Sith and their Empire or the Jedi and the Republic.

The chosen side of the Cold War will be the Sith Empire as well as Sith-aligned factions. Player may choose to create Sith and non-force characters (Mandalorians, Bounty Hunters, Hutts, and so forth).

"Our time has come. For three hundred years, we prepared. We grew stronger. While you rested in your cradle of power, believing your people were safe and protected. You were trusted to lead the Republic but you were deceived, as our powers of the Dark Side have blinded you. You assumed no force could challenge you and now… finally, we have returned." - Darth Malgus during the Sack of Coruscant

For three hundred years, the Galactic Republic knew a relative calm among the stars after the turbulent period of wars not only against the Sith and foreign powers but among their own ranks. Peace was restored in the end and many heroes to this day can be thanked for their sacrifices and their efforts for this age of peace. Yet, unkown to the Republic, a great power lurked in the darkness of space. A threat whose desire for revenge has existed for over a thousand years. Yet as the Republic waned and waxed, this threat only grew stronger and stronger. Its influence instigating the Mandalorian Wars, the Jedi Civil War and many other conflicts as a means of testing the Republic from afar. This unknown threat became reality in the form of a resurgent Sith Empire, led by an immortal Emperor. The Republic was caught offguard, the Jedi blinded by the Dark Side of the Force. Thousands of systems were ravaged, millions of lives lost, victories won and defeats gained as the war went back and forth between the Republic and the Empire. Yet when peace seemed the only option, tragedy struck as the Sith sacked the jewel of the Republic, Coruscant, in a quick and devastating blow, resulting in the Empire's forced Treaty of Coruscant.

Now a period of Cold War has settled upon the resurgent and victorious Sith Empire and the weakened Galactic Republic. The Jedi have lost their fame and reputation, shunned publicly and forced to leave for Tython. The Republic licks its deep wounds and squabbles over who is to blame. Yet the Empire has its own shares of troubles on the horizon as the Emperor declares his desire to go into isolation, leaving the Dark Council in power. Lines will be drawn, factions created and and uncertain future lingers over the galaxy as the Empire and Republic fight to contain their internal threats but keep a watchful eye upon each other. One wrong move and war could returned to a war-torn galaxy.

Rules for Sith Characters

Each player may have two Sith mains (they must be at least 1 or 2 ranks apart). Mains may be the only ones to hold rank and have the limit on force powers.
Players may have as many different auxes as they want to serve as commanders, advisors, allies and adversaries. Auxes cannot have ranks and their bonuses nor have force powers like mains.

The max skills for all characters are 10 Strength and 10 Knowledge which are acquired through classes and events. Giving good roleplay goes a long way towards reaping the rewards.
Strength helps determine the skill of a lightsaber while Knowledge determines the skill of Force using for characters. The higher the Strength, the better the character's skill with a lightsaber and the same with Knowledge; the higher the skill, the better the character's skill in using Force Powers. These go hand-in-hand in duels, classes and other roleplays. Each rank get their own starting points that they can assign to either category.- Sith Lords start off with 10 points- Sith Masters start off with 8 points- Sith Warriors start off with 6 points- Sith Adepts start off with 4 points- Sith Apprentices start off with 2 points

Rank determines how many Force powers you can use, their level of mastery and how many forces you can command.

A Sith Lord can have 11 Force Powers (5 of Master level) and can command a force of 25,000 troops (Hold the rank of Marshal). Sith Lords may also hold command over planets and fleets. Sith Lords may take on one Acolyte per player. Once the apprentice is granted the rank of Sith Knight, they lose their apprenticeship and the Sith Lord may take another Acolyte.

A Sith Master can have 9 Force Powers (3 of Master level) and can command a force of 15,000 troops (Hold the rank of General). Sith Masters may also hold command over planets and fleets. Sith Masters may take on one Acolyte per player. Once the apprentice is granted the rank of Sith Knight, they lose their apprenticeship and the Sith Master may take another Acolyte.

A Sith Warrior can have 7 Force powers (1 of Master level) and can command a force of 10,000 troops (Hold the rank of Colonel). Sith Warriors cannot hold command over planets and fleets unless granted authority by a superior. A Sith Warrior may be permitted to have an apprentice by only special permission by a superior. Upon the promotion of Sith Warrior, the Master and Apprentice relationship ends. At this rank, a character may choose to a class they wish to acquire.

A Sith Adept can have 5 Force Powers (0 Master level) and can command a force of 5,000 troops (Hold the rank of Commander). Sith Adept cannot hold command over planets and fleets unless granted authority by a superior. Adepts are granted a Darth title upon being promoted to this rank and a Darth name shall be chosen by their superior or master. Sith Adept remains under apprenticeship with their master till the next rank of Sith Knight.

A Sith Acolyte can have only 3 Force Powers (0 Master level) and cannot command a force unless granted troops by their master. Sith Acolyte cannot hold command over planets unless granted authority by a superior. Cannot hold a Darth title until advanced from Acolyte to Adept by their superior or master. Acolytes have no authority to command others and remain under apprenticeship with their masters till the rank of Knight.

The hierarchy is as listed above; Sith Lords are the highest authority with Acolytes having none. Sith Lords may override the rules of Sith Masters and so forth done the chain of command. However, Adepts have no control over Acolytes due to their low rankings. An apprentice loses their apprenticeship with their master upon the rank of Sith Warrior and may take on an apprentice with special permission. Sith Masters and Lords may take on any NPC (Aux) or PC as an apprentice.

Sith Adepts and Acolytes are allowed to seek the overthrow and death of their masters in the hopes of gaining their superior's position and title. This can achieved through plotting an assassination, killing your master outright or seeking to overthrow them by gaining the help of their rivals. More on this to be determined later (through roleplay and/or game mechanics).

The Three Paths and Their Classes

- The Three Paths -
The Path of Strength uses less Force powers and focuses on brute strength and lightsaber techniques. Force powers used by those who follow this path are mostly used as direct attacks or buffs such as Force Rage and Force Lightning. Sith that follow the path of strength may become Sith Juggernauts, and Marauders.

The Path of Knowledge uses more Force powers and focuses less upon brute strength, but cunning, wisdom and logic. Force powers used by those who follow this path are mostly used for trickery and are forms of sorcery. Force Illusion and Telekenesis are examples of powers used by those who follow the Path of Knowledge. Sith who follow this path may become Sith Loremasters and Sorcerers.

Sith Sorcerer - An individual with a great senstivity to the Force and skilled in the power of the Dark Side.Class Requirements: +2 Strength and +3 Knowledge
Class Bonuses: +2 Knowledge, +1 Force Power, [insert bonus]

Sith Loremaster - Knowledge is power and such individuals who steep their knowledge will learn of ancient rituals, powers and techniques of the Sith.
Class Requirements: +2 Strength and +4 Knowledge
Class Bonuses: +3 Knowledge and +2 Force Powers, [insert bonus]

The Path of Balance utilizes a mixture of Force powers and physical strength. These balanced users are able to call upon a variety of force powers while also having strong and capable lightsaber techniques. Sith who follow this path may choose any number of variations among the Sith ranks ranging across the board. Those who follow this path, however, can be granted the special ranks of Sith Assassin and Sith Inquisitor.

Sith Assassin - Stealthy individuals who utilize the Force and their physical skills to bring about the death of their foes from the shadows.
Class Requirements: +4 Strength and +4 Knowledge
Class Bonuses: Force Camouflage (+2 to Assassination), Stealth Generator Item (+1 to Stealth), [insert bonus]

Sith Inquisitor - Wielders of a vast array of Force Powers, these individuals are the Ears and Eyes of the Emperor, seeking to weed out the treacherous while advancing their own agendas.
Class Requirements: +3 Strength and +5 Knowledge
Class Bonuses: +1 to Counterspying, Interrogation and Spying rolls, Double-bladed Lightsaber Training (+1 Strength), [insert bonus]

About Classes:
1. A character must be the rank of Sith Warrior before being able to pursue a certain class. Requirements must be met, though a player can still aspire for a certain class.
2. Once a class is chosen, a character cannot change their mind. Be careful as to what you choose.
3. A character may learn of their master's class if the master so desires it. This may help them in becoming of the same class of their master.

Rules for Non-Force Characters

- A player may have up to 4 Non-Force Main Characters with any number of auxes
- As a non-force character, your character is either neutral or aligned with main faction(s) of the setting (The Sith Empire for this setting)
- As a non-force character, you have various professions you may choose from ranging from direct loyalty to the Empire to those who are hired by credits to serve the Sith

Non-Force Professions

Imperial Characters
- Imperial Moff

- Imperial Officer

- Imperial Agent

Allied/Neutral Characters
- Bounty Hunter

- Mercenary

- Privateer/Pirate

Rules on the Force and Lightsaber Forms

The Force is known as the life of the galaxy; the Force can not only give life, but take it. There is both a Light and Dark Side to this energy; one that is used to protect while the other is meant to destroy. After the Hundred Years of Darkness, the Great Schism that caused this war would create the two sides of the Force. Those who adhered to the Light Side became known as the Jedi and would eventually become protectors of the Galactic Republic. They desired nothing but order and peace for the whole of the galaxy. Those who followed the Dark Side of the Force became known as Sith, fallen Jedi who desired power and knowledge, using their emotions to fuel their power and their knowledge to gain even greater abilities. They desire darkness across the galaxy, autocratic rule and the destruction of the Jedi.

In this particular setting, the players shall be followers of the Dark Side. Those known as the Sith, the Jen'jidai or Dark Jedi, who use the darkness of their very hearts and emotions to fuel their ambitions for power and knowledge.

Be aware that some are only dedicated to the light side and thus cannot be used by Sith force-users.

Some powers will be off-limits due to their immense power. The following are officially banned from daily usage and can only be used with strict moderation permission.
- Thought Bomb
- Spirit Transference
- Midi-chlorian Manipulation
- Mechu-deru
- Force Storm
- Shatterpoint
- Force Vision
- Sever Force

Force Proficiency

For each rank, there is a certain number of proficiencies such as mastery, intermediate and novice ranks for being able to use a Force Power.
Those who have Mastery of a Force Power are granted a +3 to its power.
Those who have an Intermediate rank of a Force Power are granted a +2 to its power.
Those who have a Novice rank of a Force Power are granted a +1 to its power.

These positive modifiers help determine how effective they are against an opponent in duels. The base for each power's effectiveness is 10/20 with positives and negatives added on by mastery of a force power and determined by roleplaying which is either rewarded or punished by a moderator. We encourage you to show off good roleplay and not aim to get the duel done. The better you roleplay, the better your chances are of rewards.

In the entire galaxy, there are 7 forms of Lightsaber Combat, each with their own unique style and usage.

The Seven Forms of Lightsaber Combat

Form I, also known as Shii-Cho, is the basic level of Lightsaber Combat, focusing on the fundamental basics of attack, parry, body target zones and practice drills.Form II, also known as Makashi, is the ultimate refinement of lightsaber-to-lightsaber dueling. Makashi is the form of precisioned lightsaber combat, focusing on fluid motions and anticipation.Form III, also known as Soresu, is an effective defensive style of lightsaber combat. Soresu is not only meant to refine the countering techniques in lightsaber duels, but also deflecting blaster bolts.Form IV, also known as Ataru, is an aggressive combat style perfect for one-on-one combat with a lightsaber-wielding opponent. This style relies heavily on offense, attacking and speed.Form V, also known as Shien or Djem So, is the aggressive style of Form III due to the fact that Form III tended to ensure prolonged combat. This Form is the evolution of the defensive nature of Form III and the aggressiveness of Form II. There are two sides to Form V, Shien and Djem So. Shien specializes in deflecting blaster bolts while Djem So is meant for deflecting other lightsabers. Form V requires a lot more physical strength in order to dominate one's foes.Form VI, also known as Niman, is a form that was developed as a moderation of the previously created forms (Form I - V) and serves as 'the-jack-of-all-trades' where balance is achieved and leaves very little in terms of weakness. This form is heavily dependent on the practitioner's intuition, improvisation, and creativity in combat Form VII, also known as Juyo, is the most vicious form of Lightsaber Combat. This makes it the most difficult and demanding of all the Lightsaber Forms due to its chaotic and erratic patterns, with a heavy focus on brute offense. A deep emotional link is needed to unleash the Juyo Form's true potential, which makes it a relatively great combat style for Sith and Dark Jedi. (Vaapad is not available as a form as Mace Windu is not alive!)

Each rank has a different rank in terms of master, intermediate and novice. Shii-Cho is an automatic mastery rank for Sith Adept and above.Juyo can only be intermediate/mastered by Sith Warriors and mastered for Sith Masters and Sith Lords due to its demanding nature.
- Sith Lord can have 5 Master, 2 Intermediate, and 0 Novice
- Sith Master can have 4 Master, 3 Intermediate, and 0 Novice
- Sith Warrior can have 3 Master, 3 Intermediate and 1 Novice
- Sith Adept can have 1 Master (Shii-Cho), 4 Intermediate and 2 Novice
- Sith Apprentice can have 0 Master, 1 Intermediate (Shii-Cho) and 6 Novice

Rules for Army and Naval Units

The Imperial Military is the very machine that is the backbone of the Empire. The Imperial Army and Navy, the two branches of the Imperial Military, are highly trained and skilled soldiers that serve with fanatically loyalty and drive for not only the Empire but for their Emperor who has ensured their survival. The Imperial Army is very diverse ranging from the standard Imperial soldier to Sith Warrior and War Droid. The navy composes of experienced crews and powerful warships that are a fearsome sight to see.

The Dogs of War is a polite-term to generally describe mercenaries from all across the world. They are hired and paid to fight any, if not all, the nations of the Warhammer World.

These warriors come from all backgrounds, some from the Empire, others from as far north as Norsca, some as far to the east as the Ogres and then those across the sea from Lustria. All types of races fulfill the role as mercenaries, such as Orcs, Goblins, Men, Elves, Undead, Dwarfs, Ogres and more. These Mercenary companies, although coming from different nations, fight without rancour for whoever can meet their often exorbitant cost. The Empire and Tilea are the best known nations that extensively use Mercenaries. However some Mercenary companies are unreliable and would easily turn on their employers if someone else pays even more.

Regular Bretonnian armies all but refuse to hire mercenaries, considering them dishonourable (and most Bretonnian lords care precious little for their peasants anyway - treating them as disposable 'cannon fodder'). On the other extreme are the Tilean city-states which simply don't have a regular army at all, employing whole mercenary armies composed of several companies. These armies are sometimes even commanded by an experienced mercenary general. In the Empire the standing of mercenaries seems to vary; skilled and professional free companies tend to be respected by most Imperial commanders while disorganized or unwilling rabble is often despised.

Greetings, one and all once more.

After much deliberation, again, and with plenty of time on my hands, I have decided to go with another RP. This time set in the more fantastical cousin of the 40K universe, yet still based inside Games Workshops chronologically confused but nonetheless quite entertaining lore. If you do not know this 'version' of the franchise so well, or if you have any questions, please feel free to send me a PM or ask in this thread.

Let me set out to you a few simple rules, and indeed guidelines, for this proposal.

The Rules (Thanks go to Bastard Feudalism for these)

1. Follow all of TWC's Terms of Service.

2. Obey all direction you receive from TWC moderators and/or Local moderators.

3. Private Message all profile registrations to me in the correct format.

4. Keep all interactions within the realm of general comfort; romance and violence are encouraged, but let's not get too descriptive.

5. Literacy is required. When posting, post at least three sentences, post in the third person, and try to accomplish something in each post.

6. Metagaming is not allowed. Do not use any sort of outside information that you have that your character doesn't in order to gain an advantage.

7. Player characters can be killed by other player characters only with consent from the player that owns the character being killed.

7.a. The moderation can kill off characters if the player is feasibly inactive and holding up progression in the story, usually with majority agreement.

8. Fights will be fought and reasonably judged.

9. God-modding, all-dodge, and auto-hit are not allowed. You get one warning.

9.a. You cannot describe the result an attack has on an individual, it is up to the other individual to show good sportsmanship and allow an effect to occur; Characters are allowed to dodge when considered reasonable.

9.a.i. God-modding is defined as a character/player being able to do anything without limits or boundaries. Ignoring logic, claiming invincibility, and breaking the rules of the game are good examples of this. No one is superman.

9.a.ii. All-dodging is defined as having a character dodging every (perceived) hostile action that comes at them, no matter the intensity or accuracy.
Auto-hitting is defined as assuming an action is successful and deciding for yourself the immediate result.

10. No Canon characters.

11. Players may not have multiple characters, to begin with at least.

12. The moderation (Currently, me) and/or majority rule have the ability to add or amend rules if deemed necessary.

13. ALL OOC SHALL BE POSTED IN THE OOC THREAD.

14. Characters, for now, will be consigned from Good to Chaos-Neutral in aligment; this means that Greekskins, Ogres and so forth are exceptable. Undead, Dark Elves and so forth are not./

Character Creation/Profiles

Here is the character profile/registration format, which needs to followed exactly. When created, one must Private Message the profile to the moderation (me) for approval.

While I could easily have gone for a Chaos Invasion scenario, or that of just the Empire or what-not, I much prefer having a varied and potentially highly interesting group around. In my opinion this just makes for a much better and more entertaining RP overall.

Therefore I have chosen an RP based the Dogs of War- the collective term in WHF used to refer to companies of mercenary warriors, or even whole armies of them. Though mainly composed of Humans, more-or-less anyone can join if they seek to be hired for the correct price; Orcs, Dwarfs, Ogres and Halflings can all be found rubbing shoulders with one another for that sweet gleam of gold.

If you as a reader are familiar with such works as the Black Company novels then you may know a little of what to expect; essentially a group of misfits slammed together in their shared lust for gold, adventure and getting into other peoples messes.

While there shall be plenty of action, there will also be intrigue, politics, religion and all the 'grim darkness' that the 40K version is known for...just in a more fantasy-based setting.

Interested? Then come aboard!

The Setting

Tilea- the place for hired warriors -a collection of city-states, Republics and tyrannies all located on the very same peninsula. If you wanted to hire someone to do your killing, or you were indeed the person wishing to be hired, then this is likely the first place you would come. As such, it is the perfect place to hire, be hired or simply demonstrate ones skills and abilities for some heavy coin.

From Tilea anything is possible! One could travel to the steaming jungles of Lustria, to the frozen northern wastes, over the mountains into Bretonnia or into the civilised lands of the Empire.

Here is where it shall all begin...but where it will all end is another matter entirely.

Career (if any) and Skills: Ogre Mercenary. Though Dimwitted, his heavy build means he can take multiple wounds and shrug them off. His large size includes massive strength able to lift creatures or objects many times larger than himself. Also able to eat pretty much anything he can get into his stomach…. Also a budding story teller (in Ogre terms).

Weapons: Traditional Ogre club, made from the tusks of a Stonehorn (carried across his back, used only when all other weapons have been…exhausted). One hand wields one of the famed Iron-Fist of the ogres. His main weapon of choice is a huge two handed maul, that really is a stone pillar taken from one of the temples of Nehekhara, its handle just a worn down portion of the overall pillar, sanded down thin enough to put his hands around. The thick end of the pillar once displayed the head of a winged beast of some sort but after years of use it has been worn down to a point where nothing is recognizable.

Attire: Gut-Plate made of iron, but dipped in Bronze that gives it a clean sheen with the symbol of a Ogre with a larger than normal mouth eating the head of a humanoid. Various clan tattoos (many in black but a few in Yellow that were done in various human cities) Trousers: Black with stripes of yellow.

Equipment/Other: Various eating instruments (mostly made from discarded human weapons that are too small to be used as weapons but make for good utensils.) Large cow hide bags tied to his waist, filled with half spoiled meats and various metals including gold.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): ten feet tall, pretty normal for any Ogre bull. Totally Bald, with a Horseshoe mustache (black hair). Clan tattoos all black, with personal tattoos in yellow (Usually depicting the best meals he ever had or symbols he found pretty or amusing in his travels) Most of his teeth are intact (A fact that he is proud of, having won many bouts without losing many), though some them have been replaced with various rocks and large animal substitutes . Dark black irises, though it’s hard for any human to tell him being so tall. Various scars mark his body, but while the size of them might have been near fatal for a human, they are mere scratches to him.

Mental Description/Personality: Most of all men and other manner of thinking race would know of the…mental capacity of Ogres. Bulgric is no exception. Though not the brightest candle, he is curious of the outside world and is well on his way on becoming a Maneater of good renown. He already has a few stories of his own that he is eager to tell rivals back home and even regale the smaller races until they fell asleep. Food and gold his main focus in life at this moment; though he would not shy away from approaching something shiny , living, or interesting he has never seen before and probably try to eat it. Though friendship is a hard enough concept for most ogres, he does have a concept of comfort in familiarity that could be considered friendship. For an ogre.

Background/History: Growing up in the Mountains of Mourn like most of his kind, born into a smaller tribe on the southern end. Bulgric was curious for an ogre, wanting to gorge himself on delicacies beyond the mountain fauna of his home he set out to live the life of a mercenary, not knowing if he would ever make it back home, because he would probably forget where it was. He has spent most of his adult life (the last 10 to 15 years) roaming the world, killing for coin and eating whatever was around that fancied him. So far it has been pretty good and has tasted some strange and interesting things: from Orcs to men, and from undead Khemri to Skaven. The later giving him some bad indigestion, which he took as a curse from the Great Maw never to partake in such a thing again.

He has been zigzagging his way from his mountain home throughout the world of men and beast. Sometimes he would run into groups of men that would give him gold not to eat them and take him on as an escort which was just fine for him. Every now and then whenever he was in a new place he would get a new tattoo to commemorate the experience (but really just to remember where he had been). Right now he found himself in Tilea after clubbing down a number of pirates as an extra hand on a ship sailing from the ports of Marienburg to Tilea.

Bulgric so far is enjoying his time abroad and does not plan on going home anytime soon. There was still so much to taste and so much to loot. And it felt pretty good that people treated him with the respect of a tyrant whenever he walked into a room (mostly because of his size and the ogre reputation)

Hasan "the Arab" of Akka - Arabian M.D. - Bastard Feudalism

Username: Bastard Feudalism

Character Name: Hasan of Akka

Race/Species: Human

Gender: Male

Age: Late 20's

Career (if any) and Skills: Being an Arab of gentle birth, Hasan can ride a horse (of course), swing a sword, shoot a bow, and even use a musket if need be.
But his skills lie in medicine, in amputation, in biology, as well as in mechanics and technology.

Weapons: A corsair's falcon-pommeled saber and a long barreled Arabic musket from Baskra, engraved with Arabic scripture all over.

Attire: Always dressed loose flowing robes with sleeves that hang low; However, he does not wear a turban or any form of headdress like other Arabs, and rather keeps his head and hair revealed.

Equipment/Other: All kinds and sorts of little amputation tools and medicinal vials or herbs.
Besides these, his clothes, and weapons, there is nothing else but his horse, an Estalian palfrey.

Physical Description: Hasan's skin color could be comparable to some more southerly Estalians, being a a pallet lighter than the stereotypes of the people across the southern sea, a mild tan. He has a trimmed beard, and his hair, revealed because of the lack of any headwear, is actually significantly long but tied up on the back of his head. The eyes of Hasan are a cloudy blue, and his hair a light brown.
The Arab doctor stands perhaps a little shorter than typical men from the north (Empire, Norsca, etc), but is considered of average height for people of the Southern Sea (Estalia, Tilea, Araby).

Mental Description/Personality: Hasan 'of Akka' is a surprisingly liberal individual, only carrying a base set of morals uncharacteristic for his people.. or for most people, really. Usually a casual human being, congenial and humored, he becomes critical and sore when working on patients, lecturing them for their rash actions that led them to injury. Inquisitive, curious, and generally tolerant of most things he has come across, Hasan's adulthood may just be a creation of a strange childhood in Araby.

Background/History: Hasan, as his 'surname' might suggest, was born in Akka, a part of the Caliphate of Kufra.
Son of a nobleman of a priestly caste, Hasan was raised among scholars and intensive education, and expected to become a doctor and a scholar.

At the age of 15, Hasan left Akka and travelled a number of cities along the western coast of the peninsula, visiting holy sites and giving alms..
He found a number of situations as he offered medicinal aid to persons of poverty where he could not understand a world where alternate ideas or unorthodox ways of thinking could not be tolerated.

He continued to question this cultural approach as he grew to manhood, and, when it came time to join with his father at the court of the Caliph, Hasan instead went north, joining a corsair fleet in Baskra, where he was welcomed as a doctor.

Oh, so many years aboard the decks of corsair galleys..
Hasan met many peoples (through captivity however), and became particularly hedonistic and moral-less.
He also stopped wearing headdressing around this time, letting his hair run free and long.

Eventually, Hasan washed up on the shores of Tilea, and, learning that a debaucherous life perhaps isn't so good, adopted a basic code of ethics and temperance to continue living as what he considered a decent individual in the eyes of god.

Jan "The Cleaver" Batten - A Halfling with a History - McScottish

Username: McScottish

Character Name: Jan "The Cleaver" Batten

Race/Species: A Halfling of Mootland

Gender: Male

Age: 37

Career (if any) and Skills: A Halfling of many skills- from the more natural ones of stealth, light-fingered pilfering, being a dead-eye shot with a bow and arrow/sling to, of course, being a cook of almost unmatched skill...except by other Halflings. Although formerly an inn keeper-cum-chef, he is now a shell of that joyful Halfling, and instead wanders the Old World as a mercenary for hire.

Weapons: Trained in the traditional art of shooting a bow by his father, long days spent on the village green, he is able to hit just about anything that moves (or doesn't) from a considerable distance. As such, he is never without his sturdy oaken bow and a quiver of arrows, but this is no longer his weapon of choice! Jan prefers, to the dismay of many a friend and foe, to get up close with his enemy, wielding his two-handed butchers cleaver with the proficiency of an actual trained killer. Almost the same height as himself, and always sharpened to a razor-keen edge, it has become his trademark and his nickname as well.

Attire: Common Halfling travelling attire is what this fearsome warrior wears; starting from the top and going down, he is garbed in a simple brown travelling cloak with a hood, his head usually covered by a floppy tam O' shanter (look it up). The cloak is then thrown over a simple white shirt, made in the Empire, and over the shirt is tied a tough studded leather jerkin without sleeves. Around his waist is a thick belt with a dull brass buckle, holding up a pair of loose but rough brown trousers. As with all Halflings he is severely proud of his feet, not doing them or himself the honour of wearing shoes of any type.

Equipment/Other : Jan carries everything that isn't his weapons in a small back-pack, inside of which are a number of spices and herbs for flavouring, some sloshing bottles of sauces, a few 'snacks' for the road and more than couple of pans. The pans that he does carry are his 'old faithfuls', never failing to produce meals of sublime taste and wholesomeness.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): Standing at only three-and-a-half feet tall, Jan is not what you would call an imposing figure in terms of height.This he more than makes up for in other ways. Unlike almost all other Halflings he is not the red-cheeked and pot-bellied type, but rather a child-size wall of walking muscle that would make a Dwarf proud! The sleeves of his shirt barely contain the muscles of his arms, his torso like a brick placed on top of short legs, and his feet some of the hairiest ever seen on one of his kind, hairy enough to make any Halfling woman swoon.

Facially he would be considered 'gaunt' by Halfling standards, even though it is still full enough to look a little over-fed by the measurings of the Big Folk, eyes of green that used to sparkle now glare out from under bushy eyebrows of a brown so dark it is almost black in colour. Like most Haflings he has rather full lips, matched with a thin nose and thick sideburns that almost form mutton-chops on his face, all framed by that unruly mop of curling hair which all Halflings cultivate almost as much as the ingredients for their foodstuffs.

Lastly are his pride-and-joy, his feet; two five-toed marching machines with soles of skin so thick he can walk on sharp and jagged rocks in safety, a fine layer of hair much like that on his head keeping them warm in colder climates.

Mental Description/Personality: Damaged would be the best way to describe this tragic Moot dweller, his personality often swinging between fits of joviality and a deep depression. He is happiest when he is cooking or fighting, and is both a loyal and humourous friend for the majority of the time, but if threatened or disturbed he is capable of a much greater rash of violence than anyone would believe of one of his race and stature. Nevertheless, he has an affinity with nature, and with food, as well as an almost Dwarfish dislike for Greenskins...or at least the smaller kind. He believes strongly that food is a guiding light in a world of encroaching darkness, a sort of glue, if you will, that can make or break groups of peoples and creatures- but if food should fail to work, he is just as happy to use violence.

Background/History:

Jan was born to an average Halfling extended family, surrounded by nearly hundreds of relatives, spending his early years eating, smoking, cooking and hunting- as is standard Hafling fare for most of their life really. Yet not for Jan. For he was born in a small settlement called Plim Moot, a tiny place near the World Edge Mountains, at the mouth of a river that no-one outside of the Mootland would know, but that was quite open to attack from the various bands of Ogres and Greenskinned monsters which were known to take Halflings in the night if they weren't careful- such stories had been told to Jan and his many siblings since they were young...it was only later that he would come to know they were real.

Eventually, as all Halflings must, he found a spritely young girl and became her spouse, marrying her on a shining spring day and over time producing two fine children- one a girl and one a boy -topping it all off by opening his own tavern in the village, which was frequented by both the locals and travellers coming up and going down the river.

It was almost a decade later, having settled into his life and his comfortable routine, that it all came to a bloody and horrifying finale...

They came in the middle of the moonless night, hooded figures with sharp spears and curved scimitars, crooked green noses and gnashing teeth and glowing red eyes the only things that were visible as they swept into Plim Moot and massacred or enslaved the entire population present on that night at that time. Luckily his parents, and many Battens, were away in other parts, unluckily he and his family were not.

After being dragged from his bed, the screams of his family ringing in his ears, Jan was knocked out and awoke to find himself looking upon a scene of utmost horror.

It had been nearly a day before he finally awoke, groggy and unprepared for what he saw, thick bars of wood surrounding his naked self in his new cage; in front of him were a group of Night Goblins gathered around a frothing cauldron that bubbled and produced from it a smell that would make anyone wretch, but that made Jan vomit. None of the Greenskins noticed, too busy with their entertainment, chattering in their hideous voices and prodding something in the pot. Jan craned his neck to see what it was...and then wished he hadn't, for there in the pot floated the heads of his wife and children, an animal howl emerging from his throat and continuing until his vocal chords became sore and the Goblins had had enough of it, threatening to cook him next.

Never would he forget that moment, and never has he.

When he finally was released, a company of Dwarfs coming upon the enemy camp in a frenzy, and finding him before they had a chance to tear his flesh from his bones, they found a Halfling with reddened and puffy eyes from all the tears he had shed and that could not- or would not -speak to the

Seeing that he only wished to leave, they let him go. Jan wandering off into the world, fractured and broken beyond repair, though with his trained and inborn skills nonetheless intact. Using these skills he had managed to make a little money, to survive from one day to the next, but still not truly able to live.

Now he had plodded into Tilea, the very birthplace of the mercenary soldier, to see what he can see, and perhaps even find a reason to remain alive for just a little longer.

Aleron Rambert - Shamed Bretonnian Knight - Chesser 2538

Aleron “The Exiled Knight”

Username: Chesser 2538

Character Name: Aleron Rambert

Race/Species: Human/Bretonnia

Gender: Male

Age: 35

Career and Skills: Knight(exiled). Having been trained as a knight of Bretonnia, Aleron is skilled in the use of broadsword, axe, mace, dagger, and lance. He is also a trained horseman, and due to his former station is proficient in diplomacy and matters of state.

Weapons: Carries a castle forged broadsword strapped to his back, a dagger on his belt, as well as a knife in a sheath in his boot. When saddled on his destier, he has a mace tied to the saddle.
Attire: His armor consists of steel-plate armor that still bears the faded sigil of his liege with chain mail coverings in the side gaps. He also wears a faded grey heavy shirt, breeches, and studded leather boots.

Equipment/Other: Aleron carries all of his other gear either in a traveling pack, or when available the saddle bags on his horse. Items of note include a leather bound journal/notebook. That is filled with observations of his travels, notes on various locals and people, as well as several well drawn maps of the many regions, as well as typical tools and field gear, an extra set of clothes, and a bag of coinage from various regions. Another thing of note is his destier, a battle hardened bretonnian warhorse.

Physical Description: Stands at a height of 6’ 2”, Aleron is lightly tanned having spent many a day under the sun. He is broad shouldered and fits the typical build you would expect from a knight. His eyes are a dark green, and his hair is a dark black color and cut short so not to impede his vision. He sports a short styled beard that nicely compliments his face and slightly hides wear of time and battle. As with most knights, he has a stout muscular build that has been built up from hours of swinging a sword and driving a lance. His facial features are described as being heavy, with raised cheekbones and a square jawline. Across his arms and torso are the scars and wounds of battle, having healed over long ago.

Mental Description/Personality: Having been raised within a knight’s code of chivalry, Aleron has maintained many of the values of his earlier life, among these are a desire to honor his oaths and promises, as well as a devotion to duty. Over time however his code of values has changed from what many a knight follows. After his exile Aleron decided upon focusing on raising his own prestige and position instead of protecting that of another. He is a quick learner and has developed considerable skill in leadership, diplomacy, and tactics which makes his method of thinking more strategic and planned, instead of being sporadic. He can however make a snap decision, even if it lingers on his mind after. He has patience for those who can learn, but can become annoyed quickly when dealing with fools.

Background/History: Aleron was born in the city of Couronne in northern Bretonnia. Born into a family of lower nobility as a second son, Aleron unable to inherit his family seat, chose the path of knighthood. So upon reaching the age of 15, Aleron saddled his horse and donned his mail riding off from home to join up as a knight errant. Intent upon proving himself worthy of being raised to a knight of the realm. Alas he would have to wait 4 years for such an honor, for as he would learn knighthood is earned through valor, not impetuousness. The act that distinguished him was actually quite by accident. While upon the field of battle, young Aleron was knocked from the saddle by an enemy knight. While lying in the mud with as it was his helmet twisted backwards and his longsword lost, Aleron heard a horse charging toward him and in a panic pulled out his dagger and begun slashing it wildly around. Just by luck the rider not noticing the downed knight rode over him, right into the path of the dagger. With his horse disemboweled the man was flung from the saddle, crashed into the ground, and broke his neck. Upon regaining his footing and removing his helmet, Aleron would find with quite a shock that the downed man was none other than the enemy commander himself.

For the next ten years Aleron would then serve as a Knight of the Realm in Brionne, rising in position to command the defense of the entire Eastalian Border. It was here that he flourished, and developed his skills in tactics and leadership, as well as the intricate art of medieval diplomacy. On his tenth year of service he was awarded the weapon that he carries now, a longsword forged by one of the best swordsmiths in the kingdom; he considers it to be one of his most prized possessions.

Shortly after this, things began to turn ugly. Aleron’s family became embroiled in a court conspiracy to unseat the ruling duke of Couronne. Upon its failure, the conspirators were either hanged or imprisoned, shortly after Aleron was called to the court of his liege in Brionne. Upon arriving he was arrested then questioned in relation to the incident involving his family. Upon realizing that Aleron was not even aware of it transpiring the Duke of Brionne informed Aleron that it would not be good to be known to have a knight from a traitorous family in his service. Also fearing the repercussions of the recent events, the Duke warned Aleron that it would be best if he left Bretonnia. With little choice he complied. The suggestion came to be valid, as no sooner than he left the realm Aleron discovered that the enraged duke had gotten the ear of the king, and had all direct relatives listed as conspirators in the crime. With the threat of imprisonment if he returned to his homeland, Aleron set out on his journey south.

For the next 4 years Aleron would journey across the continent, trying his luck in a number of professions. His travels would see him fighting across the sands of Araby Desert in the south, and charting the frozen reaches of the north, to leading trading expeditions as far west as Ulthuan and as far east as the ancient cities of Grand Cathay. He would serve as advisor to lords in Estalia, and even journey once into the darklands. His travels have now landed him in Tilea, a land that while not unfamiliar to him, is a place that he feels could be studied for years, and still not be fully understood.

Mormeril Coldeye - Deadshot in Dark Elf Form - Jokern

Username: Jokern

Character Name: Mormeril Coldeye

Race/Species: Dark Elf

Gender: Male

Age: ~170 years old

Career (if any) and Skills:
Mormeril has served as a Darkshard on one of the gigantic Black Arks of the Dark Elves, armed and trained with crossbows to support the main line of Bleakswords and Dreadspears. He joined several corsair fleets as they raided the shores of the Old World. Through training and experience, as well as the natural abilities of his blood, Mormeril is an expert shot with his crossbow, a capable sailor and has an affinity for torture and interrogation. Due to the style of combat his people utilize, ambushes and hit-and-run tactics are his preferred methods of fighting the enemy.

Weapons:
A Darkshard is armed with his trusted repeater crossbow, which has been modified with a spiked blade at the front, making it in essence a bayonet. The crossbow fires iron-tipped bolts, which are usually dipped in poison before use. Should the enemy get too close, there is always his trusted spiked dagger at hand.

Attire:
Mormeril wears a simple eye-patch over his right eye socket, since the eye was lost during a particularly bloody raid. Under an armless mail tunic lined with black leather which go down to his knees he wears a long purple robe adorned with white ornamentations in the shape of rose thorns along the edges and cuffs. Around his waist is a leather belt where his other equipment is stored in pouches and bags. Spiked steel vambraces protect his forearms. He wears long black leather boots and slim black trousers.

Equipment/Other:
Besides his weapons he carries around a few coins in a purse, some basic medical equipment in a pouch and a water skin. A crossbow quiver with a number of bolts sits on his waist. Around his neck hangs an amulet honoring Khaine, the Elfish god of murder.

Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.) :
Like most Dark Elves, Mormeril's complexion is pale and smooth. He looks very young by human standards, and is very young by Elfish standards. Along with this is his long white hair, kept together in a ponytail. His ears are adorned with five small gold rings each. The remaining eye is dark and grey, its stare earning him the nickname "Coldeye". Since he lost his right eye in battle, only his left eye remains. Luckily, it doesn't impede his aim much since he is left-handed. He is taller than the average Man, and his slim figure makes him look even taller. Under his clothes there are a number of scars from various raids.

Mental Description/Personality:
Mormeril is a Dark Elf with few likeable qualities to his personalities. He is a greedy, selfish glory hound who is only working for his own good. For some, that makes him an ideal, or at least typical, Dog of War. Where there is loot and plunder, he will do his utmost to get to it first. Earning honors on the battlefield, often tied to getting the best loot, is another important matter for the Dark Elf.

However, once the battle starts, he becomes focused on what is at hand, working towards ending it in a quick resounding victory. For a painless victory means more loot to be had. Also, like other Dark Elves, Mormeril enjoys torturing people.

Background/History:
Mormeril was born on one of the Black Arks, enormous ships that house the many corsair fleets of the Dark Elves. That he would one day join one of these fleets was obvious. His father and most of his other relatives were already plaguing the shores of the Old World.

Through rigorous training, and staying alive in a city of the most cruel people that ever lived, he eventually joined a Black Ark as it set out to plunder and spread fear. Raiding from Araby to Kislev, the Black Ark and its smaller vessels gathered much wealth.

However, one day when Mormeril served as a crewmember on a smaller ship raiding villages in Tilea, the fleet fled. Chased away by some force unknown to Mormeril, he and a few other Corsairs were stranded and left to their fate in a strange and hostile country. Moving inland, the force fractured by several attacks and ambushes and the Dark Elf was alone. In his rage over his fate, he swore to find the captain that had abandoned him and his crewmates and end him.

In the country where mercenaries make a living, Mormeril decided to sell his services for money as well. Until he has enough to buy a ship and go home to the Black Ark and slay his former captain, he will go anywhere and endure any task for sweet revenge.

Algrimm - Iron within Iron without - Pericles of Athens

Username: Pericles of Athens

Character Name: Algrimm

Race/Species: Dwarf

Gender: Male

Age: 201

Career (if any) and Skills: Ironbreaker: Algrimm served in the depths of the mines fighting Skaven and Goblins for nearing on a century before leaving for the surface. Making him an experienced warrior, skilled as well, particularly in close quarters combat. Mercenary: Nearing on a century of service as a mercenary on the surface has given Algrimm experience fighting above ground and more importantly experience conversing with the lesser races. Low Light Vision: Thanks to their constant exposure to the dark within the depth of their own tunnels dwarves are blessed with great night vision. Strong Willed: Despite his shame Algrimm has the iron will of a true dwarf, mentally fortified and impenetrable.

Weapons:Gromril Axe: A great axe of unmatched dwarven make. A relic of an older age passed from father to son for untold generations. Dwarven Throwing Axes: Three rather simple axes by dwarven standards, used as both back up weapons for his two handed axe and as ranged weapons.

Attire: Ironbreaker Armor: A suit of finely crafted armor of dwarven make. Its inlaid with glyphs, runes and dwarven script. It shines with a deep dark black and gold trim, though the shine is dulled by the dirt from his travels.Furs: A thick layer of furs from various beasts Algrimm has slain. Soft and warm the dwarf covers his shoulders with these aged mementos of passed glories.

Equipment/Other: Coin Purse: A small bag filled with a number of gold coins from past jobs, though it has been running thin as of late.Bottles of Booze: Two large bottle filled with strong smelling and throat burning liquid.

Physical Description: Dwarf Height: Algrimm stands roughly five feet in height, rather tall for a dwarf but short by the standards of any other race. Magnificent Beard: Algrimm has a mighty black beard that runs down to his belly, he has been cultivating it for the past two centuries. Cold Eyes: Algrimm's eyes are chilled and distant, they carry the heavy burdens of a dying race and Algrimm's own burdens accumulated over these past two centuries. Built: He may be short (by the standards of other races) but he has an extremely broad and muscular build that few can match.Scarred: It is no surprise but Algrimm bears numerous scars from nearly two centuries worth of almost constant conflict.

Mental Description/Personality:
Alcholic: A dwarf who can down his own weight in ale is no dwarf at all. Bitter: You'd be seething too if you were exiled from the lands of your father, while Skaven sought to steal those same lands from below and greenskins sought to steal them from above. Brawler: Algrimm picks fights often when stewing in an inn or brothel, with everyone from Orcs and Goblins to Ogres. Hot Headed: Anger Algrimm at your own risk, he can be easily anger by certain things and holds such a grudge for centuries. He still has numerous scores to settle from his first few decades of life. Gold Lust: Like the rest of his people Algrimm has a deep love for gold and enjoys hoarding his treasures.. if he had any. Ravenous Appetite: Algrimm enjoys stuffing his face with meats and bread and meats. He needs something to be washed down by all that ale. He never seems to be entirely full and bloody battles make build up an extreme hunger, despite such things unsettling most people's stomachs and killing their appetites not energizing them.

Background/History: Algrimm was born at Everpeak and fought learned to fight at a young age. Eventually he was welcomed into the ranks of the Ironbreakers. Where he proved his worth as a warrior and defender of his people. Eventually he was shamed and left the Everpeak, putting himself into a form of self-exile to shun his own shame. He has spent numerous decades on the surface now, slaying dozens of horrifyingly dangerous beasts and fighting countless battles for untold sums of gold that Algrimm has long since spent on copious amounts of ale, food and more ale.